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A CITY IN THE EOREGROUND 


A CITY IN THE 
FOREGROUND 

A NOVEL OF YOUTH BY 

GERARD HOPKINS 


NEW YORK 

E. P. DUTTON AND COMPANY 

PUBLISHERS 




Printed in Great Britain 


^0 

THREE PARENTS 

IN ACKNOWLEDGEMENT OF DEBTS THAT 
CAN NEVER BE REPAID 
THIS BOOK 
IS 

DEDICATED 




■ 


V 


“ Blessed is he who has been young in his youth.” 

Turgenev : “ Rudin." 

“ Unaquceque res, quantum in se est, in suo esse perse- 
verare conatur.” — Spinoza : “ Ethics,” III. vi. 

“ For unto every one that hath shall be given and he shall 
have abundance.” — St. Matt. xxv. 29. 


A CITY IN THE FOREGROUND 


CHAPTER I 

At a certain point in St. Giles’, the Woodstock and 
Banbury roads, meeting, like two middle-aged way- 
farers, engage for a while in lifeless talk and then part, 
bored with one another, with themselves, with life, and 
with boredom, to limp past villas to a lingering end. 

It is improbable that to an unprejudiced eye they 
would have looked any less dreary in the moonlight of 
May 5th, 1913, than they had under similar circum- 
stances on any evening during the previous fifty years. 
At their best and at their worst, a distinction due to 
courtesy rather than to truth, they stood for a symbol of 
the arid desert of North Oxford, and the silver radiance 
failed to bring either romance or mystery to assist the 
bleak depression of their perspectives. 

Strangely enough, this aspect of the neighbourhood 
did not reveal itself to Mrs. W instanley. She was giving a 
ball — the ball she would have said had her opinion been 
asked — and to her complacent eye the long suburban 
approach to her house was rich to-night with a thousand 
irresistible allurements. For many years she had accus- 
tomed herself and her friends to think that social Oxford 
centred, during May, round Kithaeron,” that being the 
name with which she had burdened the already over- 


10 


A CITY IN THE FOREGROUND 


loaded fagade of her red-brick villa. She revelled with 
unruffled dignity in the thought that the steps of her 
pseudo-Gothic porch were worn by the feet of a never- 
ending stream of visitors. Heads of houses met un- 
erringly within the severe sanctity of her drawing-room ; 
social reformers from London and the provinces hung 
up their soft felt hats in the ecclesiastical dimness of her 
hall; and her garden echoed constantly the gay badinage 
of politicians at play. 

It was, however, in the abandon of the dance that the 
Winstanley circle attained its consummation. It was, 
of course, impossible to compete with the splendours of 
“ Commemoration,” and yet in the very admission of that 
impossibility Mrs. Winstanley found consolation. There 
was, after all, something essentially vulgar in the summer 
orgy of the colleges. It had no distinction. It was 
metropolitan, lavish, frivolous, belonging, surely, to the 
season of London rather than to that of Oxford. For 
one hectic week thousands of visitors poured into the 
city, overwhelming the few hundred inhabitants who 
remained to face the feverish excitements and exhausting 
pleasures of tireless youth. That Norah and Betty 
should look forward to the general revelry was natural 
enough. Even North Oxford is young at times, nor 
would their mother, dimly conscious of the need for 
worldly tolerance, have had it otherwise. If Oxford 
permitted its Commemoration, Oxford must patronise it 
and give it distinction. Nevertheless, the essential truth 
remained unquestioned, that the permanent spirit of the 
University realised itself more truly in the restrained and 
chaster gaiety of the Banbury road. Throughout May 
and early June, therefore, in a series of dinners, lunches, 
and dances — Cinderella, of necessity, these latter, be- 


A CITY IN THE FOREGROUND ii 

cause of certain unalterable college rules — the academic 
world relaxed to a somewhat wan festivity, kept alive 
by the timely recruiting of young blood from among 
the less experienced undergraduates. Of this world 
Mrs; Winstanley was the self-appointed queen, and her 
dance was held to be the chief event of the Oxford season. 
It was talked about and prepared for from the first day 
of the summer term, invitations were issued weeks in 
advance, and enthusiasm, born of expectation and 
nourished by gossip, made up generously for any failure 
in the realisation. 

It had long been a tradition that the main topic of 
conversation at the Winstanley dance should be the 
Winstanley s, their eminence, scholarship, kindness, and 
importance. From these beginnings it was permissible 
to wander into the domain of general talk, but it was 
understood that no subject should be dragged so unduly 
into prominence as to obscure the essential significance 
of the evening. These conditions did, as a matter of 
fact, admit of a range of discussion wider than might at 
first have appeared possible, for Mrs. Winstanley identi- 
fied herself with every aspect of University activity, and 
in particular with the life, social, intellectual, and 
athletic, of the college wherein her husband was senior 
classical tutor. Nothing in the life of All Saints escaped 
her eagle eye, and no problem arose which her powerful 
personality failed to seize upon and her judgment illum- 
inate : no undergraduate rose to prominence or notoriety 
without incurring the criticism of her caustic tongue. 
She was, in short, of a “managing” disposition, and 
her husband had ceased long ago the hopeless task of 
directing her character or controlling her words. Many 
generations of guests had acknowledged the supremacy 


12 A CITY IN THE FOREGROUND 

of her personality, and long custom had made it easy for 
her to dominate the conversation of her friends. 

It was, consequently, with something like consterna- 
tion — it would be rash to speak without qualification 
of any such unbridled emotion disturbing her self- 
control — that she realised on this particular evening the 
wilfulness of Fate. The gods had chosen this of all days 
to let loose upon the University a scandal so unusual and 
so overwhelming that nobody could resist its fascination. 
It was in vain that Mrs. Winstanley strove to eject the 
insidious intruder. In every corner of the house, dis- 
mantled for dancmg and murmurous with conversation, 
one subject only was discussed. She had no part in it, 
she had not influenced the event, and now she could add 
nothing to the comments. Providence — God did not 
exist for Mrs. Winstanley out of church — might at least 
have preserved the decencies, and, by postponing for 
one day the dramatic occurrence, have enabled her to 
withdraw with dignity into the fastness of her own 
affairs. 

Her daughters fully appreciated the family discom- 
fiture, and realised clearly the general tension of the 
evening. Since, however, they were both eager for all 
possible details of the “ affair,” they pursued their in- 
vestigations with tact in hidden corners of the house. 
In the publicity of the ballroom they maintained loyally 
the official tradition that nothing in the social or 
academic life of Oxford was worth discussing except 
what was controlled directly or indirectly by the genius 
of their mother. Conversation in the Winstanley sense 
was, therefore, limited in extent, though within the limits 
of its prison it strove bravely to assume an air of liberty 
ranging from matters of University politics, in which the 


A CITY IN THE FOREGROUND 13 

Winstanley influence was held to be supreme, through 
the whole gamut of social scandal, to the chances of the 
All Saints’ Eight at Henley. For, though nobody had 
ever been brave enough to investigate the precise degree 
of Mrs. Winstanley ’s athletic knowledge, and few had 
dared to comment in her presence upon the persistent 
absence of her husband from the towing-path and the 
playing-fields, it was accepted as an axiom that games 
being played by members of the college were of necessity 
matters of justifiable interest to the family. No wave of 
heresy had ever as yet been violent enough to shake the 
foundations upon which this infallibility was built, but 
to-night the age-old superstition had been, for the first 
time, seriously called in question. The fact that the 
attack was not consciously directed did not diminish its 
strength. The interest of Mrs. Winstanley’s guests was 
no longer under control : for the time being, at least, she 
had lost the power of directing the trend of their specu- 
lations. 

She realised with anger, rather than with disappoint- 
ment, that even her daughters were but broken reeds, 
that their loyalty to her banner was only assumed in 
public, that in their hearts they were just as guilty of 
treachery as the rest of the world. The first shock of 
the discovery came to her when she happened upon 
Betty talking eagerly with Hugh Kenyon in the corner 
of the verandah steps. Her suspicions were fully active 
before ever she heard a syllable of their conversation. 
Kenyon ! ah, of course, he was from Knox, where the 
whole business had started. Betty, naturally, was 
curious to hear the most trustworthy account, so she had 
got as near the fountain head as possible. Probably 
Norah was behaving in the same way somewhere about 


14 A CITY IN THE FOREGROUND 

the garden. There were others from Knox who could 
tell her what she wanted to know. Those men ought 
never to have been encouraged to come to the Banbury 
road ; it was weakness to have welcomed the alien within 
her gates. Knox and All Saints — topographically 
neighbours, but spiritually such leagues apart ! Be- 
neath the shadow of “ her” college had always been this 
centre of disturbance, this community of “ Protestants,” 
so resolutely opposed to recognising her infallibility. 
She might indeed be the acknowledged queen of Oxford, 
but there had always been at the very steps of the 
throne this little republic, whose members would never 
submit. She was laughed at in Knox ; she knew it, not 
officially, of course; but the fact could not be hidden, 
and now the very scandal that had divided it against 
itself was calling her own power in question. Knox and 
its affairs was monopolising the attention of Oxford : 
there was no bluffing the truth. Samson had pulled the 
temple about his ears — that did not matter — but the 
ruins threatened to engulf her as well. 

So sure was she of her daughter’s treachery that the 
conversation she now heard added nothing to the shock 
or the bitterness of her anger. For some moments she 
stood listening, hidden by the discreet shadow of the 
house. 

*‘How horrid you are, Mr. Kenyon,” Betty was say- 
ing. “ I do so want to know all about it. Was Mr. 
Creighton really drunk? I should never have thought 
he’d be drunk. He used to come to lunch once — he 
never comes now. I don’t think mother likes him — and 
he seemed so quiet and shy. It was splendid of him 
to be drunk; do tell me everything that happened.” 

She stopped, apparently from lack of breath. As 


A CITY IN THE FOREGROUND 15 

sometimes happens in academic families, the pre- 
dominant qualities of her parents were markedly absent 
from her character. She lacked her mother’s acid tongue 
as well as the supremely cultured taciturnity of her 
father. 

Kenyon thoroughly disliked the conversation. He 
really knew very little of the business, and had no wish 
to talk about it at all outside the college. He lacked, 
however, sufficient strength of purpose to refuse defin- 
itely to continue the discussion, and he was too indolent 
by nature to face the fatigue involved in a diplomatic 
detour. He took the easiest way, which was to supply 
a gentle obbligato to the inspired melody of his 
companion’s speech. 

“ I really don’t know any more about it than you do, 
Miss Winstanley,” he replied. “I don’t think Creighton 
was drunk; he was only foolish; it was Harding who 
did the drinking.” 

Betty Winstanley interrupted him with another volley 
of words : “ Oh, but I’m sure it was Mr. Creighton ; 
Olive Mason told me all about it, and she ought to 
know. She says he ran right into the Proctor at the 
corner of the Turl; he was coming home from some 

awful club — I forget what its name is ” 

The ‘ Bats,’ ” murmured Hugh. “ It’s not so very 
awful. But Creighton’s not a member, so I don’t think 
it’s very likely that he got drunk there.” 

“ I expect he’d been there as a guest.” 

“ He was there as a guest, certainly. I don’t know 
him very well, but I can’t think he’s the kind of man 
who’d get drunk in a club he doesn’t belong to ; besides, 
he’s a don.” 

Oh, but that’s what makes it so frightfully thrilling, 


i6 A CITY IN THE FOREGROUND 

isn’t it?” Betty was prepared to fight tooth and nail 
for her theory of intoxication in high places. “ If it 
had been only an undergraduate there wouldn’t have 
been any scandal at all, would there ?” 

Hugh laughed gently to himself at the unconscious 
cynicism. “That opens up rather a big question, I 
think,” he replied ; “ but, honestly, I know nothing at all 
about the affair, except that Creighton is in disgrace 
over something that happened last night.” 

Betty was not to be denied. “ I believe you don’t 
want to tell me,” she began. “ I do think it’s rather 
beastly of you. Oh, there’s Norah with Mr. Farmer; 
I expect he’ll know all about it. Norah ! Norah ! Mr. 
Kenyon won’t tell me anything at all; isn’t it unkind 
of him ?” 

Her sister, older by two years, had just drifted into 
sight from behind the neighbouring laurels. At the 
sound of Betty’s voice she stopped halfway to the house, 
faintly illuminated by the dying flicker of a Japanese 
lantern — part of a general scheme of cultured frivolity — 
to locate the summons. After a moment’s pause, she 
came over to the seat, followed at a distance, not easily 
explained by the laws of etiquette, by a decidedly sulky 
figure, which proved, on closer examination, to be, in 
very fact, that of Geoffrey Farmer. Hugh was not 
quite certain of his identity until he had strolled quite 
close, but Betty’s practised eye had judged him as soon 
as he left the cover of the bushes. 

“ I’m sure you know much more about it by this time 
than I do,” she went on enviously, hardly waiting for 
the pair to approach within reasonable distance. “I’ve 
had no luck at all. Was he or was he not drunk ?” 

“ Who, Betty ?” 


A CITY IN THE FOREGROUND i; 

“ Why, Mr. Creighton, of course.” 

“ I really don’t know — and you mustn’t ask questions 
like that. Suppose mother heard you, what would she 
say ?” 

Mrs. Winstanley, who had been listening to the whole 
conversation, knew very well what she was going to 
say; but a natural sense of the dramatic — an unex- 
plained heritage from some non-academic ancestor — 
warned her that the precise moment for intervention had 
not yet arrived. 

Betty was irrepressible. 

“ I don’t sec why I shouldn’t ask ; everybody’s talk- 
ing about it, and I want to know. I’m sure you’ll tell 
me, Mr. Farmer, won’t you?” 

Diplomacy was never Geoffrey Farmer’s strong point. 
When he was annoyed he showed it, irrespective of the 
company he was in. Betty’s question exasperated him 
beyond all bearing. His temper, already soured by a 
long evening of boredom, broke loose. 

“ Whether he was drunk or not has nothing to do with 
anybody but himself. If you really want to know. Miss 
Winstanley, I think you’d better ask him,” and with 
this piece of inexcusable gaucherie he turned on his heel, 
and, ignoring his partner, stamped up the iron steps into 
the ballroom. 

He left behind him in the shadow of the verandah a 
trio struck dumb by that most painful of all forms of 
embarrassment, the consciousness of somebody else’s 
breach of good manners. Betty had been foolish, even 
impertinent; but her question was so obviously the re- 
sult of high spirits and thoughtlessness that Farmer’s 
brutality could claim no justification. Norah was too 
thunderstruck and too furious on her sister’s account to 


1 8 A CITY IN THE FOREGROUND 

utter a word or to notice the insult to herself in 
her partner’s sudden disappearance. She stood with 
heightened colour watching while Betty struggled 
valiantly with rising tears, incapable even of showing 
sympathy by a movement or a murmured consolation. 
Hugh, to whom the situation was intolerable, could find 
no better comment than silence. He was furious with 
Geoffrey. It was no good him saying, as he would say, 
that he was not accustomed to women, that he did not 
know how to dissemble his feelings. Nobody but the 
veriest backwoodsman could have behaved as he had 
done. Of course, the “Camel” — Creighton — was 
Geoffrey’s friend, but, after all, he had chosen to make 
himself ridiculous, and one could hardly blame the 
curiosity that sought confirmation about the details of 
a public scandal. Impulse was all very well in its way. 
Geoffrey was always impulsive — sacrificed everything 
to his violent friendships and his equally violent hatreds ; 
but, damn it all, the punishment in this case was ludi- 
crously out of proportion to the crime. In crises of this 
kind Hugh always found himself on the side of the 
decencies. The sudden shock woke him to the con- 
sciousness, rare with him, of certainty. At such 
moments he discovered the truth about himself : he was 
eminently respectable, hedged about with a hundred 
and one curious little elderly prejudices, the result, he 
supposed, of his strange upbringing. Unconvention- 
ality, which he championed in theory, never failed to 
shock him profoundly when it manifested itself in un- 
expected forms. Strangeness in dress or habits, irregu- 
larity in sexual relationships, he would have upheld 
from intellectual conviction, but a breach of the simple 
social ordinances found him unprepared, and spurred 


A CITY IN THE FOREGROUND 19 

him into unaffected hostility. The moment of anger 
would pass as soon as the first violence of surprise had 
worn off, giving place, he knew, to one of those inter- 
minable debates in his own mind, wherein impulse and 
reflection, emotion and reason, vapourised and refined, 
until they lost all human significance, took their places, 
as mere abstract terms, compared, contrasted, weighed, 
leading to no conclusion, prompting to no action, until, 
finally, the problem would be abandoned from mental 
fatigue, undetermined, to arise again when such another 
incident should wake him to a sudden demonstration 
of unreasoned prejudice. 

In the heavily charged emotional atmosphere Mrs. 
Winstanley’s voice took on the dramatic quality of 
sudden lightning that precedes, in the livid gloom of 
midsummer storms, the long expected thunder. She 
had approached the group unnoticed, and stood now, 
coldly judicial, upon the gravel path. The incident 
which she had just witnessed was, after all, the belated 
gift of a repentant Providence. Handled adroitly, it 
might serve as a weapon with which to deal a death- 
blow to the intruding topic. No one, after the un- 
fortunate occurrences of the last few minutes, would wish 
to revive a subject attended by such painful memories. 
She prepared herself to deliver the coup-de-grdce in a 
few well-chosen words. Turning to her younger 
daughter, she broke the silence with a stab of her hard, 
keen voice. 

“ If the authorities of Knox choose to encourage in- 
toxication in the Senior Common Room, I don't know, 
Betty, that it is necessary to discuss their decision at 
the top of your voice.” 

The words were just sufficient to break down Betty’s 


20 A CITY IN THE FOREGROUND 

last barrier of control. She sank on to the seat in a 
splutter of self pity. Meanwhile her mother turned to 
Hugh. 

“ It would not be a bad idea, Mr. Kenyon, if you gave 
Mr. Farmer a few lessons in the elements of good breed- 
ing. He seems to combine the most unpleasant aspects 
of his father’s aggressiveness with all his mother’s 
gaucherie ! ” 

Having thus reasserted her position, the charming 
chatelaine of “Kithaeron” moved majestically towards 
the house. She had done all that was necessary. To 
elaborate the situation would be merely to defeat her 
own ends by giving undue prominence to an affair 
which it was far better to ignore. For the rest of the 
evening the subject of Mr. Creighton and Knox would 
be carefully avoided by her daughters, by Kenyon, and 
by Farmer, of that she was quite certain. She had 
sounded the right note, and dealt with the situation in 
the only manner consistent with her own dignity and 
importance. In her own house, and, consequently, as 
she reflected with satisfaction, in most of the houses of 
North Oxford, the scandal would henceforward sink to 
its proper level of squalid unimportance. The dynasty 
was saved. 

Her activities, politic as they no doubt were, had done 
nothing, however, to relieve the embarrassment of the 
group she left behind her. Nor ah was the first to find 
her tongue. She sat down beside her younger sister, 
and, laying her hand upon her shoulder, spoke gently in 
her ear. 

“Come, Betty, you must pull yourself together. You 
know what mother’s like : she doesn’t mean half of 
what she says. Come along, dry your eyes, and let’s 


21 


A CITY IN THE FOREGROUND 

all go back and dance. People will wonder where 
you’ve got to.” 

She rose and stood waiting, while Betty, still shaken 
with sobs, dabbed her eyes spasmodically with a wet 
pocket-handkerchief. Hugh, motionless where Mrs. 
Winstanley had left him, felt that he must say some- 
thing, however foolish, to help the situation. He moved 
a step forward. 

“ I say,” he broke out, “ I’m most awfully sorry this 
has happened.” So sudden had been the development 
of the catastrophe that he found it difficult at the 
moment to retread the steps which had led up to it. 
With the pleasant weakness born of a natural aptitude 
for compromise, he felt in a dim way that he might 
ease the tension by taking some of the blame on to 
his own shoulders. 

“ I’m afraid,” he continued, “ that I ought to have 
realised what would happen. I ought to have done 
something,” he ended lamely, while he searched vainly 
in his mind to discover what exactly he could have done 
or said to forestall the disaster. 

Norah turned smiling from her sister. 

“ I don’t see how you can blame yourself in any way, 
Mr. Kenyon,” she said. “ Betty oughtn’t to have asked 
all those questions. I knew mother would be angry if 
she heard.” 

“I’m afraid Farmer was frightfully rude,” Hugh 
replied. “ He’s very fond of Creighton, and — and — 
well, he doesn’t go to dances very often.” The futility 
of the remark made him smile in spite of himself. 

“ He wasn’t very polite, certainly ; but suppose we 
forget the whole thing and go indoors.” 

By this time Betty was once more presentable, and 


22 A CITY IN THE FOREGROUND 

the three moved towards the verandah, leaving behind 
them, as best they could, in the shadows of the garden, 
the unpleasant memories of the last half-hour. In the 
atmosphere of light and music that filled the ballroom, 
gaiety was soon recaptured; within ten minutes con- 
versation had returned to the safe topics of rowing, 
dancing, and river picnics, and the glories of the Win- 
stanley party reasserted themselves over all intruding 
gossip. From her post by the drawing-room door 
Mrs. Winstanley observed, approved, and heaved a 
sigh of relief. The traditions of the Banbury road had 
been shaken, but not destroyed. 

Though Hugh made a conscientious effort to throw 
himself once more into the business of the dance, he 
soon realised that the adventure from which he had just 
escaped had made further enjoyment impossible for him. 
He was filled with an irresistible desire for flight, and 
it was with joy therefore that, smoking in solitude 
between the dances, he noticed Geoffrey rummaging 
amongst the medley of hats and coats in the recesses 
of the hall. 

“ I say,” he murmured, “ if youVe going. Til come 
along with you; wait a couple of minutes and I’ll be 
ready.” 

Geoffrey grunted ungraciously, but Hugh, already on 
his way back to the drawing-room, did not hear the 
grudging acceptance of his proposal, and hurried on to 
look for his hostess. Betty and Norah he found, both 
completely recovered from their discomfiture, and bask- 
ing serenely in the warmth shed by two All Saints 
athletes. Of them he took his leave, and, rather re- 
lieved than otherwise at his failure to discover their 
mother, hurriedly joined Geoffrey, who, despite his 


A CITY IN THE FOREGROUND 23 

sullenness, was waiting for him at the bottom of the 
stairs. Together they were making their way towards 
the front door when Mrs. Winstanley, issuing majes- 
tically from the library, stepped suddenly between them 
and liberty. Hugh, ready as ever to meet the super- 
ficial demands of polite society with easy hypocrisy (he 
cursed himself continually for what he called his 
“ damned gift of happy futility ”), was the only one 
of the two men to speak. 

“ I’m afraid we’ve got to go, Mrs. Winstanley,” he 
said, with a smile. “ Geoffrey’s in training and I’m 
working. Thank you so much for a delightful even- 
ing.” 

Mrs. Winstanley, true to her habit of leading rather 
than of following conversation, made no reply to his 
words. The rancour that had soured her pleasure 
earlier in the evening had vanished utterly with her 
victory. But she felt it due to her reputation to speed 
the parting guest with some remark typical of her 
temper and indicative of her self-imposed duty of 
general criticism. 

Carefully ignoring Farmer, she turned to Hugh with 
an acid smile. ** Good-night, Mr. Kenyon,” she said. 
“ By the way, that young man of yours who talks so 
much at the Union wrote very foolishly in the Magazine 
last week.” 

“ Do you mean Colquhoun, Mrs. Winstanley?” 

“ That may be his name. I think he’d better come 
and see me,” she added grimly ; “ but when he does he 
mustn’t wear such a big tie, and I don’t like his whiskers 
— they’re affected. Good-night.” 


CHAPTER II 


Hugh and Geoffrey walked for some distance in silence. 
The heat of the last few weeks had been oppressive to 
a degree that Oxford midsummer can alone attain. 
In the airless darkness of the May night the Banbury 
road gave the impression of some calcined skeleton 
from whose bones the flesh has been dried and burned 
by a succession of blazing days. The moon failed to 
soften the gaunt facades of the endless villas, and the 
motionless leaves of the heavily burdened trees shone 
with a metallic glow in the light of the street lamps. 
Ill temper once born on such a night, felt Hugh, was 
likely to grow to its full stature. The only thing was 
to try to keep Geoffrey from an outburst. It would be 
difficult if not impossible, for Geoffrey was in every- 
thing of that overpowering impulsiveness that flnds 
relief only in giving uncontrolled vent to its moods. It 
was not that he could not control his temper, but that 
he did not want to. His nature, strangely sensitive and 
appreciative in some respects, was dominated by an 
arrogance that, in moments of stress, sacrificed every- 
thing to its desire for expression. This explosive 
tendency had naturally made for him many enemies, 
whose hostility he reciprocated wholeheartedly, and 
with a sort of gusto. In fact, he took a peculiar delight 
in irritating still further men who did not like him, 
and in frequenting places where his loudly expressed 
24 


A CITY IN THE FOREGROUND 25 

opinions and insults could be easily overheard, and re- 
sented by those for whom they were intended. He was 
never spiteful behind people’s backs; he found it far 
more amusing and satisfactory to be aggressive to 
their faces. In some respects his friendship was as 
disquieting as his hostility. He could neither dislike 
nor like in silence, and his friends found in him a 
champion whose very loyalty was at times embarrass- 
ing. He never dreamed of sacrificing, in devotion, any 
part of his violent personality, with the result that as a 
companion — while he usually stimulated — he was 
frequently exhausting, since his egotism blinded him 
ever to the necessity of respecting the moods of his 
friends. 

Hugh began softly to whistle the first few bars of 
“ Im Wunderschonen Monat Mai.” In doing so he was 
indulging in no conscious satire. Though part of his 
mind was occupied with the events of the evening and 
the desire to keep himself free from argument with 
Geoffrey, other thoughts and emotions were busily at 
work reacting to the complex influences around him. 
It was typical of him that, though he was extremely 
susceptible to the beauties of nature when presented to 
his imagination through an artificial medium, he usually 
found contact with them in his own person a trifle dis- 
appointing. All through the winter he would yearn 
passionately for the summer, finding in poetry, paint- 
ing, and music a promise of fulfilment, breathing 
through the conceits of Elizabethan lyrics the strong 
intoxicating air of spring, smelling with strange almost 
physical concentration as he pondered over “ Thyrsis ” 
the incense of the High Midsummer Pomps.” And 
yet, when May and June were upon him, he found him- 


26 A CITY IN THE FOREGROUND 

self still lacking something, and he often strove, as 
now, to remind himself, by quotation, that he was 
actually where he had longed to be through all the 
dreariness of the waiting months. Subconsciously, no 
doubt, the stifling inhuman atmosphere of the long 
suburban road was impelling him to a reminder that 
this really was the May of “ wonder beauty,” which was 
always, for his imagination, the goal of the year. At 
the same time, he had a dim feeling that by the hint 
of the song he might woo his companion to a quieter 
frame of mind. Geoffrey was passionately fond of 
music, bringing to it the same wild intolerance of like 
and dislike which marked his attitude to everything 
in life. To-night, however, he was not to be baulked of 
his prey. He kicked a loose stone viciously into the 
gutter. 

“ I hate that woman ! ” he burst out. 

Now that the storm had broken, Hugh realised that 
the only course for him was to let it rage to a finish. 
Agreement would not materially soothe Geoffrey^s bad 
temper, it would probably only lead to a prolonged fit 
of sulks, ending sooner or later in a sudden outburst. 
He nerved himself therefore for a struggle, drawing 
strength from the memory of his friend’s unforgotten 
display of bad manners in the garden. 

“Well, I don’t think you made much effort to hide 
the fact when you were in her house,” he replied. 

“ Why should I ? I suppose you think I ought to 
have sat down under it and said ‘ yes * and ‘ no ’ in my 
best party voice.” 

“ Don’t talk nonsense, Geoffrey. After all, I don’t see 
what she did to annoy you.” 

“ Ouf ! She makes me sick ; there she was, nosing 


A CITY IN THE FOREGROUND 2; 

round all the evening just to find out what she could 
to talk scandal about with her friends.” 

“ You really are the most extraordinary person ! 
What’s it all about ? She asks you to her house, does 
nothing that I can see to annoy you, and then comes 
this tirade.” 

“Well, all that business about * Camel if that wasn’t 
enough to make me lose my temper, I should like to 
know what was.” 

“ What had she got to do with it ? After all, it was 
Betty who started talking to you about it, and you were 
damned rude to her — so I don’t see that you’ve got a 
leg to stand on.” 

“ I’m jolly glad I was rude. Inquisitive little beast ; 
what’s it got to do with her what ‘ Camel ’ does ?” 

“ Oh, don’t be a fool ! She’s only a child, and it’s 
not so very extraordinary for her to be inquisitive, 
especially when everyone is talking about the thing.” 

“ It’s just that that makes me see red. Everyone 
talking about it ! Why the hell should they go poking 
their noses into other people’s business ? They’re all 
the same, the whole lot of ’em,” with a contemptuous 
jerk of his head towards the dwindling vista of the 
Banbury road. “ Damned dried up little dons with 
their dried up little families. They live for scandal 
and backbiting, and their children are just as bad. 
They go about sniggering and gossiping and listening 
to their parents, and when they come across anyone 
who’^ a bit human, they’re on to him like a knife, and 
begin pulling him to pieces. I hate the whole crowd 
of them !” 

“ That’s all rot. Why will you always make a 
mountain out of a molehill? Mrs. Winstanley’s rather 


28 A CITY IN THE FOREGROUND 

a joke really; I get a lot of fun out of her, why can’t 
you ? I know she talks about me behind my back, but 
I put up with that willingly so long as she talks amus- 
ingly about other people to my face.” 

“I’m not so easy going as you are. I’m damned 
if I’m going to stand by and hear my friends discussed 
by her or any of her family.” 

“ Why do you accept her invitations if you dislike 
her so?” 

“ I can’t help myself. When my people used to live 
in Oxford they were great friends of the Winstanleys 
for some unknown reason. If I try to keep away from 
the house altogether it means a row at home. Heaven 
knows what she’s capable of telling them about me !” 

“ Well, it doesn’t alter the fact that you were intoler- 
ably rude, does it ?” 

“ I know I was rude : I’d be just as rude again. It 
doesn’t matter to you, I suppose, if your friends are 
dragged in the dirt and blackguarded by every woman 
in North Oxford?” 

“ You needn’t be personal. As I said before, Betty’s 
only a child, and I don’t see why she shouldn’t be 
excited about local news.” 

This effort of Hugh’s to be quietly reasonable had 
not the slightest effect on Geoffrey’s excitement. If 
anything it spurred him on to fresh paroxysms of 
anger. 

“And as I said before,” he burst out, “they’re all as 
bad as each other. Everything that Betty and Norah 
hear gets round to their mother eventually, and then 
she starts elaborating what she’s been told and making 
mischief. Old Winstanley can’t stop her, even if he 


A CITY IN THE FOREGROUND 29 

wanted to ; he’s nobody — he just does as he’s told. But 
she's the very devil. She’s always pecking about for 
bits of gossip. If she’s left out of anything in Oxford 
she works and works until she worms her way in. 
Damned old busybody ! She can’t keep her tongue 
still for two minutes, always trying to manage every- 
body else’s business. What’s it got to do with her 
what ‘ Camel ’ does ? Why should all the ruddy fools 
talk of him as though he was a wild animal at the Zoo 
or an infectious leper ? God Almighty ! he’s about the 
only human creature in the place, and they all turn on 
him and rend him. That’s why I was rude; I wish I’d 
been a damned sight ruder. If she must talk scandal, 
why can’t she keep to AIJ Saints ? We don’t want her 
clacking round Knox.” 

“ Look here, Geoffrey, do for Christ’s sake be reason- 
able ! If Creighton goes about making himself 
notorious, I don’t see how you can expect people not 
to talk about him.” 

Geoffrey faced round suddenly and stopped dead in 
the middle of the road. 

What the'^devil do you mean by notorious ?” he said 
in a voice shaking with anger. “ * Camel ’ happens to 
be the best friend I’ve got in Oxford, and I should like 
to know what he’s done to be ashamed of. I suppose 
you think that he ought to have crept away and left 
Harding to be * progged ’ ? I suppose that’s what you’d 
have done.” 

For a moment Hugh thought that Geoffrey was going 
to strike him. He was with difficulty keeping his own 
temper within bounds. By a violent effort he managed 
to speak calmly. 


30 A CITY IN THE FOREGROUND 

“ Fm not saying that there is anything to be ashamed 
of : and anyhow you needn’t rouse the neighbourhood. 
All I’m after is that it was a silly thing for Creighton 
to do. If dons go behaving like that they must expect 
to get into trouble.” 

The white heat of Geoffrey’s anger began slowly to 
cool : they continued their walk. After a few moments 
Geoffrey began again in a lower tone. 

“ I don’t see that it matters whether ‘ Camel’s ’ a don 
or not. He’s loyal to his friends, and I’ve precious little 
use for a man who isn’t. The long and the short of it 
is that he wasn’t going to leave Harding in the lurch. 
Surely any fool can see that !” he added irritably. 

“ Nonsense, Geoffrey, it isn’t so simple. What’s 
happened is only what was bound to happen sooner or 
later. I don’t know Creighton like you do, in fact I 
hardly know him at all, but no one can help hearing 
about him in the college — he’s by way of being an 
institution ” 

“ Why talk about what you don’t know, then ?” 
Geoffrey interrupted. ‘‘ I can tell you one thing that 
may interest you, ‘ Camel’s ’ got more friends than any- 
body else in Oxford.” 

“ Exactly, that’s really what I’m complaining of. 
He’s got too many friends and they’re all under- 
graduates. You never see him about with other dons; 
he hardly ever dines at High Table, and yet, after all, 
you can’t get away from the fact that he is a don him- 
self. When a man takes a fellowship at a college he’s 
got to stick the consequences. The whole thing’s a 
sort of fantastic version of running with the hare and 
hunting with the hounds.” 

“ That’s damned offensive, Hugh ; besides, it’s not 


A CITY IN THE FOREGROUND 31 

true. Why should all dons be like Mason and Win- 
stajiley? I’ll lay you any money that one man like 
‘ Camel ’ is of more use in the college than a dozen cold- 
blooded, spiteful, little walking encyclopaedias, who 
regard you as nothing but a lot of troublesome school- 
boys.” 

“ But, my dear Geoffrey, surely you can strike some 
sort of a mean ? I really don’t see why a man shouldn’t 
be a don without rushing to either extreme ; at any rate, 
you must admit that there’s something to be said for 
the authorities in this case.” 

“ Nonsense, they’re simply making this an excuse for 
rounding on ‘ Camel ’ because he’s ten times as popular 
as all the rest of them put together. They’re thoroughly 
jealous of him, and they’ve made up their minds to be 
as filthy to him as they can. Do you know,” with 
another burst of sudden temper, “ that they’re actually 
calling a college meeting!” 

Well, honestly, I don’t see what else they could do. 
If Creighton prefers to identify himself with his friends 
rather than with the authorities who pay him to main- 
tain the college rules, he’s got to take the consequences. 
After all, they can’t very well countenance one of their 
colleagues who smuggles drunken undergraduates into 
college at one o’clock in the morning.” 

“ Don’t be such a damned prig !” 

“ I don’t think I am a prig : I don’t mean to be. I’m 
just trying to see their point of view, that’s all. What 
it comes to is this; you can’t be a don and an under- 
graduate at the same time. Creighton’s been attempt- 
ing the impossible for years, and he was bound to strike 
a rock some time. If this business of Harding hadn’t 
cropped up, something else would. Sooner or later a 


32 A CITY IN THE FOREGROUND 

man in Creighton’s position has got to take sides. The 
more personal his relations with undergraduates, the 
more difficult the choice when the time comes. After 
all, the authorities have a right, I suppose, to assume 
that the fellows of the college will act together. If one 
of them chooses to start an opposition, they’ve jolly 
well got to assert themselves.” 

The fire of Geoffrey’s temper had by this time died 
down to a smouldering glow. Nothing, as Hugh well 
knew from experience, would make him shift his point 
of view. Such fits of stubbornness were almost more 
typical of him than wild outbursts of temper. Obstin- 
acy in others was not uncommon, but it was unusual 
to find it, except in rare cases, cast in such an aggressive 
mould as it was with him. Mere defence never satisfied 
Geoffrey. He always tried to take the offensive, and, 
by employing a species of battering-ram, to break the 
will of whoever attempted to oppose him. Despite the 
excellence of his brain he scarcely ever tried to use 
finesse in argument. He trusted to his ability to silence 
his opponent by the vigour of his onslaught and the 
perseverance which would never countenance retreat 
until the enemy through sheer weariness had retired 
from the field. This evening was to be no exception 
to the rule. After a few minutes’ silence, he started 
speaking again in the loud, rather domineering voice 
which he always used in argument. 

“ You’re so damned oldy Hugh. You might be 
seventy or eighty by the way you talk. North Oxford’s 
spoiling you, it’s eating your guts out. For heaven’s 
sake be young ! Why, ‘ Camel’s ’ twice as young as you 
are at heart, and that’s why the Senior Common Room 
hate him so.” 


A CITY IN THE FOREGROUND 33 

“ Fm not so sure that he is really as young as you 
think,” replied Hugh. ‘‘ He wants to be, wants it with 
all his heart and soul; he hates the idea of age. I 
believe he*d do anything rather than admit he was 
getting older. Just at present he’s young enough to be 
able to pretend he’s younger still. You all like him 
for it; you think he understands you and wants to help 
you. Wait a few years, Geoffrey, and instead of being 
sympathetic, he’ll be ludicrous ; even his friends will 
laugh at him behind his back. He’ll have lost his youth 
beyond recovery, and there’ll be nothing to put in its 
place.” He paused for a moment, and then continued, 
with a little laugh, speaking almost to himself : “ Never- 
theless, you’re right to a certain extent. I sometimes 
think that I was born with a propensity to middle age. 
Something’s wrong somewhere. Yes, you’re right in 
theory; I oughn’t to talk as I do at my age. I ought to 
feel the young blood sweeping away reason and over- 
whelming reflection, I ought to, I want to, want to 
frightfully — but I don't. Nor, as a matter of fact, does 
Creighton, but he has the courage of his desires, and 
tries to. He wilfully forgets his age. He ought to be 
called the * Ostrich,’ not the ‘ Camel.’ ” 

“ My dear Hugh,” broke in Geoffrey, “ the trouble 
with you is that you’re so infernally morbid. ‘ Camel ’ 
likes young friends because he feels young, and, thank 
God, he does feel young ! There’s nothing to make a 
mystery of.” 

“ Nonsense, Geoffrey, it’s not morbid to face reality, 
but it is damned morbid to try and hide from it. You 
see nothing strange in Creighton, who is well over forty, 
striving after youth, and yet you call me unhealthy 
when I talk about age. Aren’t you just a little unfair. 

3 


34 A CITY IN THE FOREGROUND 

I don’t care what you say, it’s he who’s morbid, not 1. 
If he really and truly felt young, he wouldn’t be a don 
at Knox, he’d be out in the world somewhere getting 
rid of his superfluous energy. Of course you can’t see 
it, you’re too fond of your friends to bother about 
analysing them. Still there are two sides to the ques- 
tion, and so we come back to the original argument 
about the Senior Common Room.” 

“ Shut up, you old croaker, there most certainly are 
not two sides to that question. You’re fuddled with 
‘ Greats.’ ‘ Camel’s ’ a damned good fellow, and the 
rest of them are a lot of worms. You’re simply talking 
hot air : you don’t know ^ Camel,’ you admit that, so 
what is the use of arguing about him ?” 

“ None whatever,” laughed Hugh, “ because you w'on’t 
yield an inch, whatever I say.” 

By this time they had reached the gate of Knox. The 
giant chestnut that stood sentinel seemed, with its 
motionless weight of foliage, to accentuate the stillness 
of the sultry night. The great arc lamp near by, 
drenching its big leaves with harsh unwinking light, 
gave it an appearance of almost theatrical intensity. 
The orange glare, striking full upon the unbroken sweep 
of stone wall, painting the tree in flat crude colours, 
and stressing the shadows with the harsh focus of lime- 
light, made of the whole a scene from some lavishly 
mounted and rather tasteless play. Hugh felt for a 
moment as though they were two actors making a well- 
timed entrance. Even their talk seemed suddenly un- 
real, like a part written for them and carefully 
rehearsed. 

Geoffrey vented the last of his temper in a running 
kick at the oak door, and brought the porter pattering 


A CITY IN THE FOREGROUND 35 

to unlock the postern. On the gravel of the quadrangle 
the two stopped, preparatory to parting. Suddenly 
Geoffrey seized Hugh by the arm. 

“ Come along,” he said, “ Tm going up to old 
‘ Camel’s ’ room. You don’t seem to know much about 
him, and it’s time you did. He’ll be delighted to see 
you, but for God’s sake don’t go jabbering about Hard- 
ing, it’s a sore point.” All trace of anger had vanished 
from his voice. He seemed to have forgotten in a 
moment all the happenings of the last few hours. It 
was part of his undoubted charm that his wild fits of 
temper died as quickly as they were born. 

For a moment Hugh hesitated. To him the sudden 
change in his friend’s voice seemed to accentuate the 
staginess of the whole scene. His less volatile nature 
found a certain embarrassment in the situation. Still, 
Creighton’s rooms were open to all comers, and it was a 
very long time since he had paid him a visit. More- 
over, the events of the evening had awakened in him 
a certain curiosity. 

“ All right,” he said. 

Together they strolled towards the corner stair. 


CHAPTER III 


As they climbed to Creighton’s rooms, Hugh felt the 
sure ground of judgment, upon which he had been , 
driven by his companion’s argumentative impetuosity ; 
to take his stand, slipping from beneath his feet, , 
He was suffering already, this time perhaps a little ; 
sooner than usual, from the reaction that with him • 
inevitably followed upon the heels of discussion. In his 
late attempt to persuade Geoffrey that there were “ two 
sides ” to the question, he was painfully conscious — the 
experience, often repeated and dwelt upon, had become 
by this time always a source of pain — that for him such 
realisation was only too easy. For Geoffrey intellectual 
difficulties were decided without hesitation by that i 
cutting of the knot in which his nature delighted, and j 
this power of decision, despite its obvious faults of 
impatience and partiality, never failed to attract Hugh, 
for the simple reason that in his case so unquestioning 
a certainty was utterly impossible. 

Such approaches to partisanship as ever fell within 
his own experience usually owed their origin to occa- 
sional enthusiasm for, or aversion from, particular 
persons. There was in his character a strain of incon- 
sistency, not uncommon in people living too deeply 
immersed in theory, which balanced his excessive in- 
dulgence in criticism and self-analysis by an almost 
violent susceptibility to personal likes and dislikes. To 
36 


A CITY IN THE FOREGROUND 


3; 

certain people Hugh would take an instinctive, irra- 
tional dislike, with the result that all problems in which 
they figured as a term were coloured for him by a 
peculiar emotional light, which, in the moment at least 
of argument or judgment, refused to be modified by the 
less personal operations of his critical faculty. At times 
he would feel himself overcome by attacks of instinc- 
tive aversion, even from people with whom he was 
generally speaking on excellent terms, for whom indeed 
he had a considerable affection. This very evening he 
had been led into the beginnings of a violent quarrel 
with Geoffrey, which had its origin, after all, in nothing 
but the exasperation with which he had witnessed 
his friend’s bad manners, combined with the prejudice 
which, as he was fully conscious, had for some time 
dictated his whole attitude to Creighton. These 
sudden likes and dislikes, though they might be, for 
the time being, violent enough, came to him, however, 
comparatively seldom. They might almost be de- 
scribed as moments of revenge taken by life on a char- 
acter which, though constitutionally prone to emotion 
and sentimentality, was persuaded normally by a 
curious mental “ twist ” to keep the emotions from in- 
fluencing too deeply its daily experiences. 

The events of the evening, after leading him through 
all the mental stages of surprise, anger and doubt, had 
induced finally a natural reaction, not only from his 
heated disagreement with Geoffrey, but from the hitherto 
unvarying dislike of Creighton which had brought it 
to birth. During their walk from the Winstanleys, he 
had been confident enough in the justness of his stand- 
point, but as he crossed the quad with his friend all 
sorts of questions began, unbidden, to arise in his mind. 


38 A CITY IN THE FOREGROUND 

What, after all, he reflected did he really know of 
Creighton ? He had never much liked the man it was 
true, and therefore it was all the more necessary to 
make allowances for what might be a purely emotional 
antipathy instead of rational criticism. Was his dis- 
approval based on anything more solid than airy 
generalisation? Was not his own opposition just as 
guilty of irrational prejudice as Geoffrey’s unquestion- 
ing partisanship? Geoffrey was no fool, he was as 
ready to dislike one man as heartily as he liked another, 
and his enthusiasm for Creighton must surely be based 
upon some discovered excellence which probably existed 
to account for the don’s ever-increasing circle of whole- 
hearted friends. Why, after all, should not Creighton’s 
attitude be a perfectly genuine outcome of strong 
vitality, finding its complement in the society of 
undergraduates as a relief from the staid and stodgy 
atmosphere of the Senior Common Room ? With 
such luxuriance of self-deprecation did these reflections 
develop, that in a very short time Hugh found himself 
carried to the very apogee of inconsistency, viewing 
with all the fervour of a penitent the excellence of his 
friend’s enthusiasms for a cause in opposing which his 
own equally violent opposition had served merely to 
land him in a morass of doubt and dissatisfaction. 

As he mounted the stairs with Geoffrey he was ready 
not only to approach Creighton with a mind open wide 
to new impressions, but even to reverse his previous 
judgments at the first hint of encouragement. 

Donald Creighton inhabited what might be described 
as a complete “ flat ” in the southern corner of the front 
quad. His two sitting-rooms, bedroom and pantry, all 
opened on to a lobby which by means of its “oak” 


A CITY IN THE FOREGROUND 39 

could be cut off completely from the life of the rest of 
the stair. As a matter of fact no living member of the 
college had ever found Creighton’s “ oak ” shut, with 
the exception of one scholar who, arriving in Oxford 
three weeks before the beginning of term for a spell of 
intensive work, discovered the approaches to every room 
except his own relentlessly barred until the return of 
their owners. This youth, living on the corner stair of 
the front quad, and being of a sensitive nature, found 
that the removal of so ordinary a landmark as 
Creighton’s ever open door interfered seriously with his 
powers of concentration. He applied to the porter for per- 
mission to restore things to their normal condition that he 
might thereby avoid distracting mental influences, quot- 
ing in support of his contention the famous story of 
Kant and the tree. The porter, strange to say, failed 
to appreciate the allusion (an omission for which he 
was severely brought to task by his colleague of Balliol, 
who, in addition to knowing the name of every member 
of the college, past and present, could have taken a first 
class in any school with consummate ease and unruffled 
composure), and the “ oak ” remained bolted for another 
ten days, until Creighton’s return at the end of the 
“ Vac ” enabled his neighbour to plunge once again with 
his accustomed vigour into the refreshing stream of Post- 
Hegelian metaphysics. 

As Hugh and Geoffrey approached the landing, they 
were met by a confused babble of sounds coming from 
the direction of the main sitting-room. At this evidence 
of merriment within, Geoffrey cleared the few remain- 
ing steps at a bound, and ran into the lobby. 

** The old thing doesn’t seem to be taking his trouble 
very hardly,” he laughed, and, wrenching open the door. 


40 A CITY IN THE FOREGROUND 

flung himself into the room. Hugh, following at a 
slower pace, stood for a moment on the threshold, torn 
between a feeling of shyness and surprise at the scene 
which confronted him. 

His first impression was of a blue haze of tobacco 
smoke, through which human forms moved dimly about 
some object on the floor. As his eyes became accus- 
tomed to the atmosphere he noticed that the big sofa 
before the fireplace had been swung half round so that 
it projected into the middle of the room. In front of it 
several young men seemed to have combined into the 
rough form of a “ rugger ” scrum, the energy of their 
movements causing the sofa to jerk spasmodically in 
the direction of the opposite wall. Here and there other 
figures were scattered about the room in attitudes of 
comparative repose, though the attention of all appeared 
fixed upon the central group, which swayed and heaved 
to an accompaniment of noise and laughter, through 
which certain thick gurgles and protests were faintly 
audible from some unfortunate whose outward form was 
hidden beneath the phalanx of its attackers. 

Hugh reached the door just in time to see Geoffrey 
make a dash for this mound of human bodies with a 
shout of “ a Camel ! a Camel !” and begin elbowing and 
butting his way through the yielding obstacle. At this 
diversion the general pattern seemed suddenly to 
change as at the shake of a kaleidoscope. Bodies de- 
tached themselves here and there to sink, laughing 
limply, into chairs and on to cushions, and in a few 
moments the whole scrum had broken up into its com- 
ponent parts. A chorus of voices seemed to be directed 
at Geoffrey, who, as soon as the success of his attack 
appeared beyond doubt, leapt with a shout into the 


A CITY IN THE FOREGROUND 41 

middle of the sofa, where he lay, drumming ecstatic- 
ally with his feet upon cushions piled at one end. 
Out of the general hubbub individual voices became 
audible. 

“We don’t allow professionals!” 

“ Good God, Geoffrey, don’t you get enough footer 
in the winter ?” 

“ butting in like a great bull !” 

“ Turn him out, * Camel,’ prodigals oughtn’t to return 
in this aggressive way !” 

“You’ve torn my nice new bags. I’m glad mother 
isn’t here to see ! ” 

From the floor space now freshly disclosed a figpire 
slowly arose, smoothing its hair and dusting its knees. 
For a moment Hugh was puzzled, then it dawned upon 
him in a flash that this was Creighton himself. Amaze- 
ment combined with his original shyness to keep him 
stationary at the open door. All his original preju- 
dices blazed up afresh. He felt a sudden disgust at 
the undignified scramble he had just witnessed. “ The 
man’s no right to be a don at all !” and so strong was 
his sudden feeling of antipathy that he was on the point 
of slipping out of the room while there was yet time. 
But just as he was about to carry his decision into 
effect, Creighton caught sight of him. With a smile of 
peculiar sweetness and an air of hospitable dignity 
strangely at odds with his dishevelled appeaxance he 
came forward with outstretched hand. 

“ Come in, Kenyon,” he said, “ and shut the door. 
These ruffians seem to have got all the chairs. Sit on 
the floor, will you ; I hope you don’t mind ?” 

The moment for action had gone by. Hugh closed 
the door and sat down as inconspicuously as possible. 


42 A CITY IN THE FOREGROUND 

where he could lean his head against the angle of the 
displaced sofa. 

Creighton had turned laughing to Farmer. 

You only just saved my life, Geoffrey, appropriately 
enough, too, seeing that you were the cause of the whole 
brutal outrage.” 

“ We were just debagging him,” explained Cyril 
Harborough from the armchair, “ because he wouldn’t 
cut the cake until you came.” 

“ Oh, Gawd !” said Geoffrey, swinging his feet to the 
floor and sitting up suddenly, “I’d clean forgotten all 
about the cake ; of course it’s my night. I’ve been grac- 
ing North Oxford, ‘Camel,’ as no doubt you have 
gathered already from my waiter’s get up — here give us 
a knife and let me get on with it ! ” 

“We said you were out,” remarked another voice 
from the corner, “ but he wasn’t having any.” 

“ Besides, as we told him, you’re in training and 
mustn’t eat cake,” added Goldsmith. 

“ I took my stand on a point of ritual,” smiled 
Creighton to Geoffrey. “ It’s your night, and that 
means we wait for you until eleven. It’s only half-past 
ten now, so I’m justified. The training argument was 
a fallacy. Cricket isn’t so strenuous as all that. Be- 
sides we don’t have a double blue officiating every 
Wednesday, as I told them, which was all the more 
reason why we should wait. That finished ’em, and 
I was set upon by the whole mob of hooligans.” 

“ Well, what could you expect, we were all starving,” 
laughed Harborough, “and we had to have some ex- 
cuse for debagging you. Hurry up with the cake, 
Geoffrey.” 

This last was shouted, for Geoffrey had gone into the 


A CITY IN THE FOREGROUND 43 

next room armed with a monstrous carving knife. In 
a moment or two he emerged, carrying on a tray — no 
plate was big enough — the most gigantic cake Hugh 
had ever seen. Putting it on the floor in front of the 
sofa, he dropped on to his knees and began hastily 
hacking it into vast slices, which the various occupants 
of the room seized and devoured. 

It had been Creighton’s habit for many years to keep 
open house for his friends every night from nine o’clock 
until the small hours. Three evenings in the week, 
Monday, Wednesday, and Saturday, were, however, 
peculiarly sacred. Nothing was allowed to interfere 
with their dedication to friendship. Creighton’s duties 
as a fellow of the college, even though they had been 
refined away to bulk as little as possible in his daily 
life, did, of necessity, make certain calls upon his time 
which could scarcely be avoided. On some nights of 
the week he found it impossible to escape duties that 
took him from his rooms, and sometimes even from the 
college, but by dint of careful management he had 
arranged to be, on these three evenings of the week, 
always at home to his visitors. To mark still further 
the peculiar significance of these occasions he had insti- 
tuted the custom of providing cake for his callers. But 
as it was in size no ordinary cake, so its provision was 
more than a mere routine of hospitality. Around the 
function of its cutting had grown up a symbolism of 
friendship which made of it the central ceremony of his 
circle. To each of the red letter days was attached as 
patron saint the name of one of the most persistent 
habitues of the Creighton salon. The honour once 
granted and assumed never lapsed during the lifetime 
of its holder. Even after they had “ gone down,” it 


44 A CITY IN THE FOREGROUND 

was the custom of Creighton^s friends to appear, each 
on his peculiar evening, to perform his part in the ritual 
of hospitality. Whenever it was humanly possible, 
the right man always appeared at the right time to 
superintend the cutting of the symbolic cake. If unavoid- 
able business or sudden illness prevented his arrival, his 
powers were delegated to one of the present genera- 
tion of undergraduates, who took upon himself the 
majesty and the duties of the absent functionary. It 
was the rule of the circle that, if the officiating member 
remained absent, the cake should stand uncut until 
eleven o’clock. If by that time he had not arrived, 
Creighton himself took the knife and satisfied his 
hungry guests. 

Connected closely with this custom was another, which 
served to glorify still more reverently the rites of 
friendship. On the panels of Creighton’s walls were 
painted the names of all those who had been received 
into the circle of intimacy. No formal function of 
election was necessary for the enjoyment of such im- 
mortality. The perpetuation of any particular name 
was entrusted to Creighton, and the question of what 
exactly entitled any individual to inclusion remained 
shrouded in considerable uncertainty. Fresh names 
appeared from time to time emblazoned upon the walls 
of the big room. No request for inclusion was ever 
tendered, and, by an unuttered and unspoken law, no 
comment was ever made upon additions to the list. 
Beside each name thus inscribed was a long wooden 
shutter, which by sliding right and left hid or disclosed 
the painted letters. In the daytime and on ordinary 
nights every name was displayed, but on Mondays, 
Wednesdays, and Saturdays all were obliterated 


A CITY IN THE FOREGROUND 45 

except the one whose owner was due to perform the 
sacrifice. 

For some minutes after Geoffrey had cut the cake 
there was comparative silence. It was as though an 
assembly had been waiting for the consummation of 
some supreme mystery, and now settled itself for the 
enjoyment of more mundane affairs. Little by little 
conversation became general, and a pleasant murmur 
mingled with the chink of glasses and the hiss of 
siphons filled the room. Though every chair was fully 
occupied and the floor obstructed by many bodies, a 
sort of inner circle of the initiate had assembled auto- 
matically by the empty fireplace, and round this centre 
the talk began rapidly to collect, those in the outer 
darkness contenting themselves with eating, listening, 
and contributing an occasional murmured word. 

“ How are you getting along with Dostoeffsky, 
‘ Camel * ?” enquired Geoffrey from the sofa. “ I’ve got 
plenty more for you when you’ve finished * The 
Brothers.’ ” 

“ It’ll be some time before I do that,” laughed 
Creighton. “ I’m afraid I’m rather a heretic, Geoffrey ; 
I must admit I prefer Turgenev.” 

** * Camel,’ you’re incorrigible ! I see I shall have to 
educate you. Put yourself unreservedly in my hands 
and I guarantee the results. I’ve started already on 
Cyril. The progress is rather slow, but we’re getting 
along.” 

“ Geoffrey’s such a damned tyrant,” complained 
Harborough. “ He keeps me so hard at it that I 
haven’t a moment left to read what I like.” 

“A brilliant comment on our methods of education,” 
murmured Goldsmith sleepily. “You, Cyril, are but 


46 A CITY IN THE FOREGROUND 

another victim of these fierce evangelists of the intellect. 
When you are my age, dear boy, you will realise that 
there is no escaping their pursuit. I think,” still more 
sleepily, “ that I could write a fine poem about you, 
Geoffrey, on the lines of the ‘ Hound of Heaven * — a 
strictly Russian heaven, of course — only I can never 
find any rhymes except when I am asleep. Such is the 
irony of potential genius. As for you, ‘ Camel,* I fear 
that you are not sufficiently degenerate to appreciate 
the stimulating goad of Mongolian pessimism. Accord- 
ing to George Moore, it is only the ‘ etiolated youth * 
of the modern decadence who find pleasure — or shall 
I say truth — in Dostoeffsky. Still, there is a certain 
robustiousness about Geoffrey that hardly fits in with 
the dear old man’s theories.” 

“George Moore indeed!” snorted Geoffrey. “He’s 
not got guts enough to get anywhere near the 
Russians.” 

“ Didn’t he write a preface to the ‘ Brothers Kara- 
mazoff ’ saying it was the finest novel in the world ?” 
enquired a timid voice from a distant corner. 

“ He did,” replied Goldsmith, “ but that was probably 
because he was angry with Martin or Yeats or some 
other fellow Celt. I think on the whole perhaps you’re 
right, Geoffrey. The dear old man wastes too much 
of his energy in taking his clothes off to show how 
Gallic he really is. I picture him watching eternally 
from his window — presumably in Victoria Street — until 
sufficient people have assembled to give him an audience. 
Then I see him rushing down the stairs to the front 
door, shedding his garments as he goes, and having 
a little trouble with his collar at the last moment. I’m 
not altogether sure about him when he gets past the 


A CITY IN THE FOREGROUND 47 

front door. I have an idea that he feels rather wizened 
and uneasy in his nakedness.” 

“ Hullo, John,” said Creighton, turning his head 
towards the window-seat. “ What*s the matter ? You’re 
very quiet to-night. Moore called in question and no 
champion? The situation is without parallel.” 

Hugh instinctively looked in the same direction, and 
descried dimly, through the eddying clouds of smoke, 
a well-known lanky figure curled awkwardly in the 
cushioned embrasure. John Delmeage was not as a 
rule silent for long in a roomful of his contemporaries, 
so that Hugh was rather surprised at noticing him in 
so haphazard a manner. Had he been oftener to 
Creighton’s evenings, however, he would have noticed 
as a peculiarity of these meetings that, whereas con- 
versation usually began in a comparatively small circle 
around the sofa, it spread by degrees into all the corners 
and recesses of the room, like water filtering slowly into 
the nooks and crannies of a hole dug suddenly in wet 
sand. There were so many deep armchairs, odd window- 
seats and curtained alcoves that “Camel’s” guests had 
got into the habit of settling quietly into obscurity, 
there to smoke, sleep or meditate until the general 
current of conversation swept them from their comfort- 
able backwaters. 

Delmeage, appealed to by his host, shook back his 
hair with a characteristic movement of his head, and 
stretched his legs. 

“ I’m quite willing to admit that Moore is self-con- 
scious,” he began ; “ all pioneers are self-conscious ” 

“Knox epigrams, volume I, number 23,” muttered 
Goldsmith. 

“Shut up, Harold, it’s not an epigram, it’s perfectly 


48 A CITY IN THE FOREGROUND 

true; that’s why all this halfpenny press criticism of 
the new painters is so exasperating. They are accused 
of being bizarre on purpose. Of course they are bizarre 
on purpose, simply because they are protesting self- 
consciously against their grandfathers. They tilt at the 
Victorians and their continental equivalents, and by 
Victorians I use the term in its widest sense, not only 
the Friths, Leaders and Farquharsons, but the Deca- 
dents, even the pre-Raphaelites, as well. Harold 
laughs at Moore because he undresses himself in the 
street, but I’d rather see the most self-conscious violation 
of the conventions than the equally self-conscious support 
of them. . . .” 

“ Ah ! that’s because you’re one of the fearless young 
men with the dawn in their eyes and the west wind in 
their hair,” mocked the irrepressible Harold. 

‘‘Don’t take any notice of him, he’ll be asleep again 
in a minute. To continue. To me there is far less 
indecency in the parade of nudity than in the glorifica- 
tion of clothes, not as ornaments but as coverings. 
Moore, after all, would tear the last rag not only off 
himself but off everybody else as well. Wilde, I feel, 
would have dressed the naked in some delicately woven 
negligee to heighten the seductive effect.” 

“ Mr. Delmeage, who next addressed the House, spoke 
at some length and with a fine fervour : he is a complete 
master of his subject,” chanted Harold. 

Delmeage, with apparent unconcern, threw a cushion 
at the interrupter, who, ignoring the attack, continued : 
“ Don’t think for a moment that I am to be intimidated 
by such behaviour, speak I must whatever the conse- 
quences, besides, I was young once and know how to 
discount the violence of the young. Before relapsing 


A CITY IN THE FOREGROUND 49 

into the complete, or, shall we say — for I fear these 
metaphysicians” — with a glance at Hugh — “the 
partial unconsciousness of sleep, I wish to correct myself 
on one point — incidentally, of course, I shall be instruct- 
ing you. Lulled by John’s rhythmic eloquence, my mind 
has worked quickly and well. I wronged Mr. Moore 
when I ventured to suggest that he would plunge nude 
into the draughts and dangers of Victoria Street. No ! 
a thousand times, no ! I visualize the picture afresh. 
Our George, all blushes and little else, stands ready 
to welcome into his carefully heated room the wayfarers 
of London, that they may feast their eyes upon the 
splendid nudity of the apostle of revolt. Carefully 
screened from any stray breath of fresh air, the apostle 
waits. No one comes. He sends out the servant to 
spread the good news. Still no one. Ah ! the pity of 
it ! The scene, as I picture it, closes with the poor old 
man posturing like — to use his own favourite expres- 
sion — a ‘ faded light o’ love ’ before the mirror, in an 
attempt to persuade himself that the charm of the faun 
is still his. Nudity delights youth, therefore, John, I 
forgive your enthusiasm, only do be careful and assure 
yourself that all your restive moderns are not like poor 
old George. Now — continuez, mes enfants ! Good- 
night all.” 

Goldsmith’s licensed facetiousness never succeeded 
in diverting for long the main stream of any discussion. 
It was regarded as an inseparable part of all serious 
argument in the “ Camel’s ” room : it took the honoured 
title of “ comic relief,” and served the admirable purpose 
of allowing the protagonists to rest their voices and 
collect their wits. After a short pause Delmeage once 
more took up the thread of his thesis. 


4 


50 A CITY IN THE FOREGROUND 

“ Moore’s chief claim to recognition,” he declared, “ is 
his discovery of Manet and Renoir. He has a passion- 
ate love of form and pattern. His own work is essen- 
tially ‘shaped.’ From the French he has learned not 
only vision but logic. That’s why he doesn’t like 
Dostoeffsky; he finds him incoherent, lacking in out- 
line. He would admire the literary counterpart of 
Cezane if such existed. I don’t pretend he’s always 
right. He’s wrong about Hardy, for instance, and I 
think he is essentially wrong about Dostoeffsky, but, 
after all, his prejudices are the measure of his strength.” 

“ The trouble I find m Dostoeffsky,” said an uniden- 
tified voice, “is that he’s always digging about in his 
own soul and flinging the spadefuls about haphazard. 
I suppose one ought to call it being subjective.” 

“ But surely,” suggested Hugh rather nervously, 
“every creative artist is subjective; it’s only a matter 
of degree. Every great writer has portrayed himself, 
I don’t mean in autobiographical novels, but in the 
general trend of his imagination.” 

“ Except Thackeray.” 

“ Nonsense, Geoffrey, I don’t admit your exception. 
I know you’re a Thackeray worshipper, but the truth 
of the matter is that with him, too, it was all a matter 
of degree, only the degree was dictated for him, not 
by his artistic convictions, but by his snobbery and his 
fear of censure. He was too frightened to be sincere, 
except in the one instance of ‘Vanity Fair,’ and then 
he was so only partially. He would never express any 
attitude or view unless he was sure that it would be 
echoed in the breasts of the great middle-class. Look 

at the Preface to ‘Pendennis’ for instance ** 

“That’s what Meredith had in his mind in the first 


A CITY IN THE FOREGROUND 51 

chapter of ‘ Diana/ Fm sure,” said a voice from the 
outer darkness, “ when he referred to the ‘ great 
modern, now departed, groaning over his puppetry / ” 

“ Yes, but he was wrong,” continued Hugh. 
“ Thackeray didn’t groan over his hypocrisy, he en- 
joyed it.” 

“ Thackeray was greater than any of your damned 
moderns,” said Geoffrey with an irritable wriggle. “ You 
seem to think that a man can’t imagine unless he goes 
through a process of morbid self-dissection. Thackeray 
could draw living men and women, which is, after all, 
the supreme test. So could Dostoeffsky. They’re both 
giants; why need you deprecate one to admire the 
other ?” 

Cyril Harborough, who had apparently been cling- 
ing with the greatest difficulty to the face of the intel- 
lectual- cliff, attempted at this point to ease the strain 
upon his intelligence by a modest contribution of his 
own. 

“ I don’t pretend to be literary, or anything of that 
sort,” he said ; but I never know where I am with these 
Russian fellows : it’s like a sort of a nightmare.” 

Goldsmith turned voluptuously in his slumbers. 

“ Out of the mouths of babes ” he whispered con- 

fidingly to the room in general. “ Shut up, Cyril, I 
was complimenting you, as you would realise, if only 
you could grasp the subtleties of criticism and knew 
your Bible. Look what you’ve done ! You’ve ruffled 
my hair, which, in the words of an inspired advertise- 
ment, I had * successfully mastered ’ ; you’ve damaged 
some of ‘ Camel’s ’ most valuable cushions, and you’ve 
disturbed me in my mystical contemplation of the in- 
finite. I hope you’ll never realise all that the last 


52 A CITY IN THE FOREGROUND 

implies. If you did, remorse would bow even your 
young head with sorrow to the grave. As a matter of 
fact, I was just having a most interesting conversation 
with the Archangel Gabriel : such a nice young man, 
with the most beautiful crease in his trousers. He said 
he quite agreed with me about George Moore, and he 
doesn’t like John either.” 

“ Go to sleep, Harold,” laughed Creighton. 

Delmeage, with characteristic indifference to frivolous 
interruption, when he was really interested in a subject, 
continued with an almost fierce intensity. 

“ I think Cyril has got hold of the right end of the 
stick, as a matter of fact,” he said. “It isn’t a matter 
of subjectivity or objectivity of outlook — Hugh is right 
of course when he says that all creative artists must be 
subjective — it’s simply a problem of method. Dostoeff- 
sky is so intensely concentrated upon looking at him- 
self that he forgets all about trying to formulate his 
results so as to get an essentially artistic whole. He 
is the very antithesis to Maupassant. You get caught 
up in the stream of his personality and whirled hither 
and thither through the peculiarly tortuous course of 
his emotions. Sometimes you clutch at a rock and stay 
still for a moment with the stream swirling round you, 
but you can’t stop for long. He never takes you to the 
bank so that you may watch the torrent from the solid 
earth.” 

“ I like the simile,” said Geoffrey, “ he carries you 
away like a stream in flood, and that’s what none of 
your present day fellows do. They’re all so anaemic, so 
damned * clever ’ : they can’t bear to be caught out say- 
ing the obvious, and so they strain after the exaggerated 
and the unusual so that they lose all life and fun. 


A CITY IN THE FOREGROUND 53 

No great writer ever minded being guilty of a bad 
page or a bad chapter, or even a bad book. Hardy’s 
a case in point. He’s head and shoulders above any- 
body living, but he’s done work of which a ‘fresher’ 
might be ashamed. But he’s got the great essential 
driving force — love, faith, creative power, whatever you 
like to call it. He voices the universal, which, I 
suppose, is what everything and everybody is after.” 

“ Why the universal ?” queried the muffled voice of a 
distant metaphysician. “ This Hegelianism is the curse 
of Oxford; why should you put the universal against 
the individual in the race for value and significance, 
I ” 

There was a low groan from the room, and Creighton 
laughingly intervened. “ No ‘ greats,’” he said, “ Philos- 
ophy is barred after nine o’clock — hullo, who’s this ?” 

His question was prompted by the sudden sound of 
footsteps in the lobby, and before any fresh expression 
of wonder was possible the door opened to admit a 
fresh visitor. As the occupants one by one recognised 
his face, welcomes of varying warmth were vouchsafed 
him. 

Delmeage was frankly annoyed at the interruption, 
and withdrew sulkily into the shadow of the window 
curtain. Geoffrey, with a “ Hullo, Charles ” of doubtful 
affability, proceeded to spread himself still further over 
the sofa, thereby precluding the possibility of having 
the newcomer for his neighbour. Cyril was frankly 
delighted at such an opportune disturbance of a mental 
fog which had promised to become rapidly too thick 
for his comfort, and ostentatiously made room beside 
him on the floor, patting the carpet with his open hand 
with a gesture of invitation. From hidden corners of 


54 A CITY IN THE FOREGROUND 
the room came muttered welcomes. Creighton, never 
at a loss when hospitality was demanded, waved the 
newcomer towards what remained of the cake. 

“ Come along,” he said, “I wondered whether you’d put 
in an appearance. You’re just in time to help us out of an 
intellectual maze.” 

Harold, roused by the sudden cessation of conversa- 
tion, glanced lazily at the door and murmured gently, 
“ He capers, he dances, he smells April and May,” with 
which cryptic comment he returned once more to his 
dreams. 

Charles Dallas closed the door and advanced deli- 
cately towards the table. He was not a member of 
Knox, but came from All Saints, in which college he 
was a peculiarly ornamental figure. Certain types of 
society seem to possess the power of perpetuating their 
particular character through many generations. There 
had been, for years past, a constant succession of young 
men at All Saints of the species of Charles Dallas. 
They formed a set within the college, recognisable by 
those of an older generation as the true children of 
parents whom they had themselves known, admired, 
or ridiculed. It was not only a definite attitude to life 
that made of these young men a distinct society. There 
seemed to be with them a tradition of personal appear- 
ance which, though it varied sufficiently to escape 
monotony, possessed that truth to the original which 
marked them out as the undoubted heirs of their proto- 
types. They were all good looking, with the smooth- 
ness of skin which escapes the razor throughout adoles- 
cence with an almost uncanny persistence. Without 
exception they spoke in what, for want of a happier 
description, may be termed “fat” voices. They dwelt 


A CITY IN THE FOREGROUND 55 

long and lovingly over their sentences, stressing un- 
duly the last syllables of words and ostentatiously 
employing a vocabulary of affected choiceness. Most 
of them were in the habit of quoting French which, as 
a rule, they spoke, if not with fluency, with a purity of 
accent which compensated for the gaps in their gram- 
matical knowledge, and lent distinction to their con- 
versation. No one of them had ever been seen dressed 
otherwise than perfectly. Even their negligee was a 
thing to wonder at, and it was whispered that the 
trousers of their pyjamas were creased, not down the 
sides, as with less precise people is usually the case, 
but unerringly down the front. This, as a matter of 
fact, was untrue, for almost without exception they 
remained loyal, with a refinement of elegance incom- 
prehensible to baser minds, to the tradition of the night- 
shirt. In their tastes they were dilettante, preferring 
the sweetness of the boudoir to the brutal comforts of 
the study. Their knowledge of old china, furniture, 
eighteenth century “ Belles Lettres,” and the more 
esoteric forms of cookery attained, in certain cases, a 
notable eminence. With regard to the deeper problems 
of existence they found consolation, without exception, 
in the ritual and vestments of the most extreme branch 
of the Anglican Church. As a rule they eschewed the 
Roman Communion on the ground that it tended to 
cheapen what they chose to invest with an almost 
ethereal refinement. One or two, however, had wrestled 
with the Scarlet Woman, and in their final overthrow 
found sanctuary in the bosom of St. Peter. For all this, 
Dallas and his contemporaries, though true to the spirit 
of their past, were not aesthetes in the sense given to that 
term in the eighties.” They liked to profess a degree 


56 A CITY IN THE FOREGROUND 

of masculinity, and even adopted certain vulgarities, 
which, however, they cloaked delicately until they were 
hardly recognisable as elements alien to the general 
choiceness of their lives. 

Charles stood carefully poised beside the remnant of 
cake that still remained upon the tray. 

“ How frightfully serious you all are,” he began. 
“ My dearf^ turning to Creighton, “ we are all com- 
pletely ecrases: youVe no idea of the sensation! The 
only person who seems quite happy and at home is the 
‘ old woman who lives in a shoe * ” — this was the local 
nickn^ne for Mrs. Winstanley. “ Oswald and I met 
her this afternoon, and she looked so positively 
rayonnante that Oswald suggested she was going to 
have another baby. My dear, are they going to expel 
you, or whatever they do when you’re naughty?^' 

Irrepressible though he usually was, the silence with 
which his question was received daunted even Charles. 
He pattered nervously towards Cyril and sank down 
beside him. In the tenseness of the room his whisper 
was plainly audible. 

My dear, have I said something ghastly?^' 

To Hugh the situation was vibrant with interest. He 
had noticed the carefully self-conscious way in which 
everybody had avoided the one subject which was so 
violently agitating the gossips of Oxford, which, more- 
over, was indirectly the cause of his own presence in 
the room. How would Creighton behave in the sudden 
emergency ? 

Geoffrey, blunt as ever, voiced the general feeling. 

“ You bloody fool, Charles,” he said. 

Creighton, tactful as ever, simply ignored the query 
with an easy nonchalance which gave him the air of 


A CITY IN THE FOREGROUND 57 

not having heard rather than of steering purposely clear 
of the distasteful reference. 

“ I’m jolly glad you came in, Charles,” he said. “ I 
should never have had a look in while old John was 
talking away about art. As a matter of fact I want to 
settle rather an important question. When are you all 
coming to stay at the Cottage ?” 

Charles never remained crestfallen for long, and at 
this direct change of subject his volatile spirits began 
once again to soar. 

“ Oh, my dear]' he cried, with an air of voluble sur- 
prise entirely disarming, “ have you become a squire^or a 
landowner or a yoeman or something beautifully rural ?” 

“I have taken a cottage in Surrey for the summer, 
and I want to get up some parties. I’m afraid I can’t 
have everybody at once, because even if we put the 
single servant into the pigsty it leaves only three spare 
rooms. I shall have to work my guests in relays.” 

“ Why not put Charles to sleep in a tent at the 
bottom of the garden ?” suggested Geoffrey rather 
brutally. 

“ Oh, really y how perfectly horrid of you. Doesn’t 
dew or something happen in the night which makes the 
grass all wet? I’ve got a much better idea. I’ll bring 
my chafing dish, and then you can get rid of the servant 
altogether.” 

“You’ll bring your what?^' asked Geoffrey in a 
startled voice. 

“ My chafing dish.” 

“ What the hell’s that ?” asked Cyril. “ I thought 
chafing was something that happens to your hands.” 

“ How ridiculous you are ! My dear,” turning again 
to Creighton, “ I’ve become the most wonderful cook. 


58 A CITY IN THE FOREGROUND 

I couldn’t abide that there college food ” — this was said 
with a gentle imitation of the conventional cockney 
accent into which he dropped whenever he was particu- 
larly anxious to impress his hearers with his tolerant 
spirit and catholic sense of humour — “ and, really, the 
club has become a sort of Lockhart's. So I just live 
very simply on what I can make myself — I’ve got a little 
gas range with a perfectly delightful little oven, so I 
just have an omelette for breakfast and a cheese souffle 
for dinner, with a little cold chicken and some salad; 
it’s really delightful. You must come and have supper 
with me some evening. I’m thinking of taking some 
lessons, if only I can find somebody who can teach me 
how to make a timballe! Oswald suggested that I 
should have a ‘ plat du jour ’ for each of my friends. 
You shall come as an honoured guest and try my 
* homard a dos de chameau.’ ” 

“We shall very soon die of starvation in the country 
if we live on nothing but souffle,” objected Creighton. 

“ But I can do other things as well. Mrs. Thompson, 
my bedmaker, is teaching me how to fry fish, such a 
delightful old person, my dear, though she is going 
bald, poor thing. The first day she saw the chafing 
dish she took me in her arms, literally, my dear, and 
wept on my shoulder. * It makes me feel that ’omely, 
Mr. Dallas,’ she said,” another descent into the chaste 
vulgarity of cockney. “ ' Thompson always takes a bit 
o’ fish to ’is tea, and ’e says the smell of it doing is 
almost better than the taste.* ” 

“ A true philosopher,” interposed Harold. “ I little 
thought that I should live to see the fruits of elementary 
education grow so ripe and luscious.” 

“But even that won’t save us. I’m afraid,” continued 


A CITY IN THE FOREGROUND 59 

Creighton. “ I think I shall stick to the servant. Well, 
we haven’t settled anything very definite yet. Geoffrey 
and Cyril are coming in July.” 

“ The 2 1 St, to be precise, ‘ Camel.’ ” 

“ Good. Oh ! by the way, I heard from Tom Vincent 
this morning. He thinks he can get away from town 
about then.” 

“ Topping, ‘ Camel,’ I’m longing to see the old thing 
again.” 

“ John, you were thinking about August, weren’t 
you ?” 

“ It’ll be some time about then, I think : it all depends 
on when I get back from Belgium.” 

“ How about you, Harold ? can you manage August ?” 

“ I think so, if John promises not to talk painting for 
more than three hours a day — meal times included.” 

“ Well, Charles, let me know soon when you can come. 
You can bring your cooking outfit with you if you like, 
but I don’t promise to eat your productions.” 

“ Nor do I promise to smell them with complacency,” 
said Harold. “ I have neither the penchant of Smollet’s 
doctor for stinks, nor yet the sybaritic preference of 
Mrs. Thompson’s husband for the odours of the culinary 
process. I think we’ll rule amateur cooking out alto- 
gether, * Camel.’ ” 

“Harold, you’re perfectly prefosterous ! Still, cher 
ami, I will sacrifice my stomach to my heart. I’ll let 
you know, my dear,” to Creighton, “ quite definitely to- 
morrow.” 

Through the open window came suddenly the sound 
of many bells ringing the last quarter of eleven. 
Charles got up, stretched himself, and picked his way 
over stretched legs to the door. 


6o A CITY IN THE FOREGROUND 

** Good-night, my dear,” he said. “ If I stay any 
longer I shall have to run” 

“ Wait a moment,” replied Creighton, scrambling to 
his feet. “ I’ll come across the quad with you, I want 
to go to the lodge, back in a few minutes, don’t all go 
yet.” 

Into the sudden silence that followed the shutting of 
the door there broke the gentle sound of bodies shifting 
in their seats, that almost mechanical movement that 
so often takes place when one or two leave a full 
company. 

“ A charming youth,” yawned Harold, stretching his 
arms voluptuously, if a trifle overpowering.” 

“ The man’s a fool ” began Geoffrey. 

“Youth is prone to exaggerate, my Geoffrey; when 
you’re as old as I am ” 

“Oh, for God’s sake, Harold, shut up!” shouted 
Geoffrey, with such violence that for a second or two 
Harold seemed really disconcerted. He soon recovered 
himself, however, and turned to Hugh. “ What have 
you been doing to him ? He seems a little liverish : 
North Oxford, I suppose, claret cup never did agree 
with him; try a little Eno’s, it’s the best thing I know, 
Geoffrey.” 

“ No one but a fool would have barged in like he 
did,” Geoffrey went on. “ We were all carefully avoid- 
ing ‘ Camel’s ’ corns and then he comes galumphing 
along right on top of them. The fellow makes me 
sick.” 

“ * Camel’ stopped him beautifully, though,” said John 
suddenly. “ I never heard a politer snub. Heavens ! 
I must simply dash — I’ve got to get to the ‘ Giler.’ ” 
He jumped up, seized the end of his gown which was 


A CITY IN THE FOREGROUND 6i 

lying, half covered by Geoffrey, on the sofa, pulled it 
free with a sound of rending serge, and rushed for the 
door. “ Good-night all.” 

I think ril be toddling too,” said Harold a moment 
later, repeating his prodigious yawn. “ Coming, 
Hugh ?” 

“ Yes, I think so. I’ve got to have ‘ brekker ’ with 
Theodor.” 

“So have I, and I need a good night’s sleep to 
strengthen me first; come along.” 

As they reached the bottom of the stair they met 
Creighton returning. 

“ Hullo,” he said, “ you two going ?” 

“ It’s late, ‘ Camel,’ ” replied Harold ; “ you ought to 
be in bed, I shall be in about ten minutes : good-night.” 

“ Good-night, Harold — good-night, Kenyon ; you 
must come along and see me oftener — any evening, you 
know.” 

“ Thanks, I will ; good-night.” 

A few minutes later, when Hugh had parted from his 
companion, he started to walk slowly round the quad, 
turning in his mind the thoughts bred by the evening’s 
experiences. 

The visit to Creighton’s rooms had been strangely 
unsettling. He had taken little part in the conversa- 
tion. To a great extent this was due to shyness. 
Creighton’s friends were, in most cases, individually, 
his friends also, but together in the atmosphere of that 
room they terrified him. There was about them always 
an air of ease and intimacy which he found it difficult 
to breathe, except self-consciously. He was, doubtless, 
over sensitive on this point, and his full participation 
in the talk and habits of the party he had just left 


62 A CITY IN THE FOREGROUND 

would have seemed to the other men the most natural 
thing in the world. The fact remained, however, that 
though his friendship with John and Harold was of 
long standing, though he was actually on the point of 
accepting an invitation to share lodgings in October 
with Geoffrey and Cyril Harborough, he had, in the 
atmosphere of Creighton’s room, lost in some unaccount- 
able way all the feeling of comfortable familiarity and 
easy sociability that marked his relationship with any 
of them separately, or with all of them when they met 
under different conditions. That this was so annoyed 
him intensely, and he set himself to discover satisfactory 
reasons for it. He was inclined temperamentally to 
accuse himself, and to lay most of the blame at the 
door of his own gaucherie. Creighton was blameless. 
From first to last he had shown an easy hospitality, 
and had seemed really pleased to see a new guest. 
Still, shyness alone could not be held responsible for 
the very real embarrassment which he had experienced. 
He had found it impossible to forget, however warm his 
welcome, that he was a visitor under rather false 
pretences. After all, what had induced him to go to 
the rooms in the first place but a curiosity to see for 
himself how the man, whom he had been so violently, 
for him, attacking, would behave in face of the general 
scandal which was buzzing round his ears. 

He had never been drawn into the “ Camel ” circle. As 
a freshman he had been breakfasted, after the fashion 
of Knox, by many dons, Creighton amongst others. 
Some of his contemporaries had found in one meal the 
earnest of a new friendship, and had soon taken advan- 
tage of the open invitation which was extended to all 
upon their first arrival at the college. Many of them 


A CITY IN THE FOREGROUND 63 

were, by now, mainstays of the “ Camel ” evenings, 
finding completely realised the earlier promise of a 
great friendship. Hugh, for no reason that he could 
ever discover, had not been one of these. During his 
first term he had gone once or twice, almost as a duty, 
to see Creighton, but the first strangeness had never 
vanished, and he very soon discontinued the visits. 
Possibly the shyness of which he had, to-night, been 
so vividly conscious, was even in the early days alienat- 
ing him from the don. Possibly, too, certain prejudices 
current in the college had worked upon his mind, in- 
fluencing him to draw for himself a picture of Creighton, 
which found little counterpart in actual experience. He 
had been inclined to think of him as rowdy, undignified, 
more suited to the junior than the senior common room, 
and the events of the last forty-eight hours had come, 
apparently, to justify this view. 

The scene upon which he and Geoffrey had entered 
upon their return from the Winstanleys’ had convinced 
him for the moment that he was right. The man was 
a fool, totally unfitted for his position, doing more harm 
than good in a community where he served as a focus 
for rowdyism, snobbery, and insubordination. And 
then in a flash, on top of the sour priggishness of his 
first impressions, he had felt all Creighton’s kindness, 
the unpretentious dignity that found its power in warmth 
rather than in coldness, the easy welcome, ignoring the 
rudeness which had rejected all the early proffered 
friendship. Hugh had watched and listened all the 
evening, trying to discover what exactly it was that 
made of the large room, for all but himself, a world 
of happiness. He had, as it were, taken impressions 
into two separate parts of his brain. He realised quite 


64 A CITY IN THE FOREGROUND 

vividly the fact that to others the atmosphere was 
sympathetic and stimulating, while all the time he could 
feel his own foreignness, see himself as a fault in the 
composition of the picture, a mistake in the general 
scheme of tones. Creighton had said little himself of 
any kind, and nothing at all that was out of the 
ordinary. He left it for his guests to make their own 
interests and amusements, but over all he seemed to 
radiate a kindliness that warmed the circle into expan- 
siveness. Apparently his friends felt free to talk of any- 
thing when he was there, in the certainty that he would 
listen with interest to what anyone might have to say. 

For some reason people seemed at their best in 
Creighton’s rooms. Even Geoffrey lost some of his 
aggressiveness and, under the influence of his host, 
showed the aspect of his character which always awoke 
in Hugh fresh wonder. How amazingly many-sided 
the man was ! To those who knew him only slightly 
he might seem a cocksure, rather unpleasant egotist, 
supreme at games, violent in his friendships, brooking 
contradiction from nobody. And yet, to-night, Hugh 
had witnessed once again the sudden transformation for 
which, however often repeated, he was always just a 
little unprepared; had listened to Geoffrey, sulky and 
boorish, swing suddenly into keen interest for the things 
of the mind, discussing, criticising, appreciating, bring- 
ing to literature much of the volcanic suddenness of his 
nature, but showing also a balanced power of judgment, 
a very delicate appreciation, which was entirely absent 
from his daily attitude to things and people. So soon 
as he spoke of books or music or painting the whole 
man altered. His interest seemed never ending. Was 
all this due to Creighton? It certainly seemed so. 


A CITY IN THE FOREGROUND 65 

He alone appeared capable of controlling Geoffrey, 
though why he had the power or how he exercised it 
remained a mystery. 

Even in this, then, the older man had justified him- 
self. He could charm the lion to lie down with the 
lamb. That in itself would have been a feat sufficient 
to make Hugh alter his preconceived conceptions of his 
character. But, suddenly, to crown all, had come that 
lightning flash of character. Dallas had blundered 
sickeningly where everybody else had walked delicately. 
Even Geoffrey, blunt and uncompromising though he 
could be on occasions, had avoided mentioning the 
subject about which he had been all fire in his dis- 
cussion with Hugh. No one, until Dallas broke into 
the party, had breathed a word about Creighton’s 
trouble. There had been, apparently, perfect under- 
standing that any such reference would be disloyal to 
him, since he had made it obvious that the last thing 
he wanted was to discuss, or have discussed by his 
friends, the action of the college authorities. It had 
been left to Dallas to set a match to the fuse, with the 
only result that Creighton had put it out again ! With- 
out any fuss or rudeness he had simply ignored the 
subject and diverted the conversation. 

He was conscious suddenly of a warm, comforting, 
flood of sentimentality and self-pity. Why shouldn’t 
he too find in this man a great treasure of friendship ? 
In him, perhaps, he was to discover the complement 
for which he longed, the rudder for his own devious 
wanderings. The centre of gravity shifted with the 
disconcerting swiftness that only drifting spirits can 
rightly know. A new certainty came to him, a new con- 
sciousness of endeavour. This time at least he would 
take the opportunity and close triumphantly with his fate. 

5 


CHAPTER IV 


The flame of conflict which had burst so unexpectedly 
to brilliance in the college, so that even the remoter 
corners of North Oxford saw the blaze, was of no sudden 
kindling. For many years it had smouldered secretly, 
giving off a volume of thick smoke which had led many, 
who were faithful believers of the old adage, to suspect 
a hidden Are. The fabric of Winstanley authority had, 
indeed, been spared complete destruction; the excite- 
ment caused in the University by the sudden outburst 
took longer to subside. The doubts which had assailed 
Hugh Kenyon were not confined to him. In minds 
less tainted by Cartesian prejudice they had received 
a more definite if a less reflective welcome, with the 
result that within the walls of Knox factions had arisen 
from which had sprung much bitterness and scandal. 
For this state of affairs Creighton was not altogether 
to blame. Whether he was really ignorant of their 
existence, or whether he diplomatically disregarded 
them, it was almost impossible to say. He continued 
his self-appointed task of being all things to all men 
in a spirit which apparently ignored the fact that there 
were some in the college who questioned the “ all ” of 
his doctrine, and, while admitting his power of being 
much to some, asserted, with vigour, that to the 
majority he was nothing at all, except a source of con- 
stant irritation. 


66 


A CITY IN THE FOREGROUND 67 

Hugh had found himself perplexed by the fact that, 
while Creighton himself said little, he was able by his 
presence alone to create an atmosphere of friendliness 
in which individual uncertainties and troubles for the 
time being vanished. As a matter of fact, it was just 
this power of being ” rather than of “ doing ” that 
had, ever since his first appearance in Knox, won him 
his friends, and made of his circle a force in the college 
against which the authorities were powerless. Had he 
been less inactive by nature, he would long ago have 
lost the position which he now held in Oxford. Had 
he been fired with ambition, or conscious merely of the 
ordinary restlessness which takes hold of most young 
men, he would probably have turned from the Univer- 
sity after his undergraduate years to take his chances 
in a wider life, or if his desires had lain strictly along 
academic lines, teaching would have drawn him from 
a less purely personal relationship with undergraduates 
to approximate more to the average of the fellows and 
professors who were his colleagues. By friends and 
enemies alike he was regarded as something unique in 
Oxford life, and as such was credited by both with an 
undue importance. In small communities, even when, 
as at a university, the period of concentrated social 
intercourse is limited, matters of this kind become un- 
duly exaggerated. If he had been left to make his 
own friends, uncriticised by the rest of the college, life 
would have been considerably easier for everybody, 
and at least one-half of the feuds, which for some years 
past had been a noticeable feature of Knox, would 
never have arisen. Probably his friends were chiefly 
to blame. They were apt to assume an air of superi- 
ority, and to unite into a caste of intellectual and social 


68 


A CITY IN THE FOREGROUND 


aloofness which annoyed their neighbours and gave 
birth to a spirit of envious criticism and revolutionary 
opposition in the bosoms of the less favoured. The 
college authorities could hardly help noticing such a 
state of affairs, and though many of his colleagues had 
a personal affection for Creighton, they felt that he was 
an influence of disruption in the place, and consequently 
to be discouraged. Like most schoolmasters and all 
cabinet ministers, they staked everything on unity, 
even when artificially maintained. Few of them would 
have hesitated to stoop to the most unscrupulous actions 
where the inviolability or supremacy of Knox was con- 
cerned. Often, indeed, their ideal was rather the un- 
disturbed peace of the grave than the violent con- 
trasts and vital discontents of life, and hardly one of 
them could be brought to see that even a community 
at war with itself is preferable to the complacent society 
from the corpse-like serenity of which all vigour has 
departed. 

Donald Creighton’s history had been strangely un- 
eventful. For one who was destined to see men and 
generations fighting over his body, his life had been, 
in its beginnings, remarkably devoid of startling in- 
cidents. He had gone to Knox from Clifton as a 
scholar, and a natural solidity of mind had ensured him 
considerable academic success at the University. He 
had been trained well in the tradition of examinations, 
though beyond that point he had always kept his in- 
tellectual powers strictly subservient to his desire for a 
pleasant, elegant, and kindly life. He lacked entirely 
that brilliance of thought and restlessness of brain 
which might have led him into the bypaths of know- 
ledge and a third-class in the schools. He asked 


A CITY IN THE FOREGROUND 69 

nothing more of his mind than to bring him normal 
success and the friendship of amusing people. For the 
solitude and ecstasy of the thinker or the artist he had 
no desire. Nature had gifted him with a genius for 
friendship, and at Oxford he found a field, hitherto 
unsuspected, for its exercise. During the four years 
of his undergraduate life he had been one of the most 
popular men in the University. He rarely had a meal 
alone, and though he took care not to jeopardise his 
academic success by riotous living, his rooms were 
seldom emptied of his friends. Outside the college he 
belonged to many clubs, where he was noted for 
elegance and good taste rather than for extravagance. 
His popularity was of a more lasting, if of a less melo- 
dramatic order, than that of young Pendennis and his 
numerous descendants in Oxford fiction. He seemed 
naturally to avoid excess, and by an effortless observ- 
ance of the mean,'^ to consolidate his position in the 
affections of the college authorities, and develop in him- 
self a wise admiration for the moral doctrines of Aris- 
totle, which more than anything else guaranteed his 
success in the final schools. His family was not aristo- 
cratic, but it was almost “ landed,” and this guarantee 
of social soundness added considerably to the favour 
with which the President of Knox regarded him. 

Until his last term the question of the future had 
never occurred to him, so that when, after a solid, if 
unspectacular ** First,” he was sounded as to his willing- 
ness to take a fellowship. Providence seemed bent on 
deciding for him. He realised suddenly that the end 
of these happy days, which he had dimly envisaged 
with dismay, could now be indefinitely deferred. Be- 
fore his enchanted vision there now stretched a vista. 


70 A CITY IN THE FOREGROUND 

apparently endless, of happy friendships and eternal 
youth. If his easy-going nature can be said to have 
had any distinct ideals, they were to plant in the 
college a garden of friendship to which all who liked 
might find admittance. He saw dimly that instructors 
and instructed had, as a rule, too little in common, and 
he determined that his particular work should be the 
creation of an atmosphere of welcome and intimacy 
which should make of Knox an abiding memory for 
those whom life called away from Oxford to a different 
and less enviable existence. He was temperamentally 
and by persuasion a sentimentalist, and to his tear- 
filled eyes the prospect took to itself the level, coloured 
glow of summer sunsets. He was incapable of intro- 
spection, and the problem of his own development 
never came to worry him with unwelcome doubts. He 
did not see that to be successful in the task he had set 
himself something more was needed than the mere 
power of accepting friendship, that some more definite 
gift of inspiring others was essential if he was to avoid 
an eventual tragedy in his own life. The college 
fellow is exposed to temptations of a kind which the 
schoolmaster, burdened already with overwhelming 
difficulties, is mercifully spared. At school the differ- 
ence of age between the pupil and the teacher is, even 
in the most favourable circumstances, such that few 
serious thoughts of intimacy or anything approaching 
equality can arise. Some men, very few, become school- 
masters because of a real passion for teaching, the 
majority — it is already a platitude — because of the 
opportunities for leisure offered by long holidays, their 
personal value in the athletic market, or the despair of 
finding something better. Few choose the life for the 


A CITY IN THE FOREGROUND 71 

chances it offers of companionship with boys, and those 
who do, when the reason of their choice is discovered, 
are rarely encouraged. More often than not they are 
requested to find some other outlet for their sentimental 
cravings. 

At a university circumstances are different. Those 
who feel the full magic of the life discover in it oppor- 
tunities for a leisured intimacy that no other surround- 
ings can offer. Many feel the charm indeed, but by 
analysing it lose much of its fragrance. The majority 
remain content with present happiness, nor is it until 
later, when greater responsibilities have hedged them 
in, that they begin to realise the full wonder of those 
days. It comes to them, sometimes late in life, that 
half the charm lay in their growth and development in 
an atmosphere rich with the growth and development 
of others ; that it was just because as friends they were 
discovering life together, testing new values, climbing 
new heights, plumbing hitherto unimagined depths, 
that they drank to its lees the intoxicating wine of 
companionship. A few of those who enjoy the life un- 
thinkingly are hypnotised, like Creighton, by a mirage 
of a future thus eternally fragrant. It seems to them 
as though by a mere act of will, granted the intellectual 
paraphernalia necessary for a career at least nominally 
scholastic, they can prolong indefinitely the pageant 
of their youth, as though by maintaining the appear- 
ance they can capture the reality. 

For some years Creighton was altogether happy. 
The authorities did not demand from him much in the 
way of teaching. They regarded him apparently as 
a valuable influence ; they liked his friends, and, at first, 
kept their heads studiously averted from the slight 


72 A CITY IN THE FOREGROUND 

breaches of professional dignity of which he was guilty. 
It is only fair to say that these incidents were few. 
He had never himself been rowdy, and it was no part 
of his policy to encourage lawlessness in others. Up 
to this point he realised his responsibilities, and was 
grateful to his colleagues for their confidence. Term 
after term increased the circle of his friends, and he 
did really seem to himself to be fulfilling the ideal 
which he had set out to attain. 

After a time, however, the sky began to be, ever so 
slightly, overcast. The senior common room, from which 
he could not, as a fellow, completely alienate himself, 
seemed to welcome him less warmly. Some of his elder 
colleagues, noticeably Mason, the senior science lecturer, 
were openly brusque. Scraps of conversation, gossip, 
criticism, came to his ears, from which he gathered that 
his position was becoming difficult. It was said, as 
Hugh had told Geoffrey, that he was one of the older 
men, that he was no longer an undergraduate, though, 
"to judge from his behaviour, he might be a man in 
his second year.” 

The truth of the matter was that the very novelty of 
Creighton’s scheme had first blinded older eyes to its 
weakness. He had attempted to introduce a new 
element into the life of the college, to create a hybrid 
being that should bridge the distance between under- 
graduate and tutor. So long as the plan worked 
smoothly no great exception was taken to it, but the 
slightest jar tended to throw out the whole adjustment 
of the machine. Just as in a picture the merest accentu- 
ation of a colour, the modification of a tone, the altera- 
tion of a line, will change radically the balance and 
rhythm of the composition, so the mere hint of artifici- 


A CITY IN THE FOREGROUND 73 

ality led in this case to a complete regrouping of the 
design. Faults, inherent from the first in the very 
nature of the structure, but hidden hitherto from general 
view, became so insistent that they drew upon them- 
selves an undue amount of attention from those who 
were inclined to criticise. In any academic society an 
office such as that to which Creighton was self-appointed 
is only possible or only successful so long as its holder 
possesses sufficient reserves of vitality to create a living 
atmosphere of inspiration, in which his followers can 
find an outlet for their own personalities. The centre 
of a coterie of this sort must give, give, give, continually. 
He must be capable of exerting an influence which will 
draw from those around him something which in a 
less sympathetic atmosphere will remain hidden and 
perhaps unsuspected. If he fails to do this, then 
he succeeds merely in creating a caste. Time only 
strengthens its barriers and defines its limits. What 
little life is in it gradually weakens or becomes diverted 
into other channels. The whole system of relationships 
in it becomes static, starts gradually to decay, and 
finally dies. 

Creighton had started his life as a " don ” with the 
full intention of exercising a catholic taste in the choice 
of his friends. He made it a point of honour to enter- 
tain every freshman in the college, to make clear to 
all that his door was open to everybody, and that 
nothing would please him better than to collect the 
whole college, space permitting, in his nightly symposia. 
To do this successfully demands greater genius than 
he possessed. His own sympathy was always for the 
charming in manner and appearance. He liked to 
collect round him young men who moved easily in life, 


74 A CITY IN THE FOREGROUND 

with the gift of adding ornament to whatever circle 
they were members of. In theory he made no exclu- 
sions, he would as willingly have entertained the un- 
couth and the dull as the brilliant and attractive, but 
his own character played him false, and the atmosphere 
that came gradually to be associated with his hospi- 
tality frightened the gauche and the socially intractable 
away from his rooms. 

The “Camel cult,” as it was called by the unsympa- 
thetic, had become in course of time a very close and 
privileged brotherhood. The “ undenominational ” 
welcome for all, which he had originally intended, very 
soon broke down, and he discovered that those of his 
friends who found his society most congenial erected, 
in spite of him, a barrier which all had to surmount 
who wished to attain to the charmed circle of his in- 
timacy. Habits of thought and modes of expression, 
in their origin often only jokes and catchwords, 
hardened gradually into a system of shibboleths which 
conditioned the reception of each new candidate for 
friendship. Each generation of “ Camel worshippers ” 
found itself enveloped by a cloud of witnesses in the 
shape of those who had gone before. From London, 
from the colonies, from foreign embassies and distant 
stations, came the echoes of their persistent faith, which, 
though in its finer aspect an untarnished loyalty, tended 
inevitably towards a narrowness which in certain cases 
was concentrated into something resembling supersti- 
tion. The faith, born originally of a fine spontaneity 
and real affection, was maintained by its founders with 
an intensity worthy of a greater cause. What had been 
merely customs were graced now by a magic of ritual, 
and an unofficial “ test act ” had been formulated in the 


A CITY IN THE FOREGROUND 75 

course of generations, according to which all new friends 
of the “ Camel ” had to subscribe to the conditions of 
the sect before they could be accepted as true devotees. 
It needs a Socrates to attract and hold Plato, as well 
as Alcibiades. Creighton would have been in reality 
far happier as a member of a circle than its centre. It 
would be an exaggeration to say that he was ever for 
long conscious of this truth, and even if at moments, 
happily of rare occurrence, he was dimly aware of his 
failings, he was not, as a rule, disturbed by misgivings. 
His friends supported him whole-heartedly, and it never 
occurred to them that the society which made him its 
king was in any way exclusive or offensive to the rest 
of the college. To them Creighton was just a charm- 
ing, hospitable host — “ the Camel ” always, so called 
from a strange, humped undulation in his walk. They 
never considered that what they found delightful was 
probably the companionship of one another. Men from 
all the best schools, men with a tradition of elegance 
in mind and body, not only in Knox, but from other 
colleges as well, found themselves drawn sooner or later 
into the “ Camel's ” net. Together they felt at ease, and 
though sometimes a little friction made itself apparent 
among them, there was a binding element that prevented 
anything like real disagreement within the circle. 

It would be a mistake to give the impression that 
“ Camel’s ” friends were of one unalterable stamp. The 
influence that he undoubtedly wielded in the college 
was due in no small part to the fact that men of many 
different kinds found pleasure in his society. Visitors 
as different as John Delmeage, Charles Dallas, and 
Cyril Harborough filled his rooms nightly. Bloods of 
the “ Bullingdon,” budding politicians, embryo artists. 


;6 A CITY IN THE FOREGROUND 

all found its circle congenial in its way, but there was 
always, behind the variety in personality, a common 
meeting-ground of culture or behaviour that drew these 
young men together. Metaphysicians might have found 
in Creighton’s rooms an illustration of that favourite 
catchword of philosophy, “ unity in difference.” Every- 
body spoke the same language, though they might use 
it to express different thoughts. 

To the dispossessed and the unprivileged there was 
only one explanation for this, snobbery. Of the fresh- 
men of each year only a small percentage drifted finally 
into the charmed circle. The greater number, after the 
first breakfast or the first dinner with Creighton, fought 
shy of cultivating an intimacy which had to be shared 
with men in whom they took but little interest. The 
first introduction to the “ set ” was always rather terrify- 
ing. New arrivals at Knox, unless they had known 
some of “Camel’s” friends at school, were apt to feel 
distinctly “ out of it.” They soon discovered that friend- 
ship with him was much more a matter of friendship 
with his friends. Some were content to keep at a dis- 
tance and to countenance “ without prejudice ” the 
elegant aristocracy of the college. If they found 
“ Camel’s ” rooms unsympathetic they took no further 
trouble, but made their own interests and their own 
friends outside, or were unperturbed by the thought that 
some of their companions were drawn to “ Camel 
worship ” from which they themselves held aloof. 

In other colleges lack of sympathy might have been 
confined to mere indifference of this sort, but Knox was 
peculiar. Socially it was a patchwork of all kinds and 
conditions. It had, in the outside world, a reputation 
for intellectual eminence that drew to it the able of all 


A CITY IN THE FOREGROUND 77 

classes. Scholars from Eton and Winchester looked 
upon it as their natural playground, while geniuses from 
the secondary schools and ambitious recruits from the 
ranks of labour saw in it a stage in their intellectual 
pilgrimage to success and influence. In a society so 
proud of its catholicity, Creighton and his friends were 
bound to And an element of opposition more aggressive 
than an indifference which was willing to live and let 
live. Prophets of the cruder socialism and earnest 
believers in a more kindly and violently Christian 
doctrine of equality joined hands in their hatred of what 
they called “class exclusiveness.” They were fond of 
dubbing “ reactionary ” and “ pernicious ” what at its 
worst was unthinking, and hastened to find in the 
natural companionship of men with similar likes and 
dislikes a sinister intrigue to oust the deserving from 
their “ rights.” To these men Creighton was simply a 
“ snob,” and his presence in the college was a never- 
ending source of grievance. It never occurred to them 
that their own catchwords and prejudices were just as 
exclusive as those to which they took such violent ex- 
ception. Their crusade against privilege was in reality 
an attempt to establish their own privileges above those 
of the rest of the college, and the rest of society in 
general, but they never stopped to enquire, in their 
arrogance, into the “ rights ” of those who failed to see 
eye to eye with them in matters of life and politics. 

The realisation that this division of sympathies in the 
college existed strengthened the senior common room 
in its hostility to Creighton. It was difficult to make a 
definite charge against him, except that he was different 
from his colleagues. He could not be accused of en- 
couraging drink and noise, both of which forms of 


78 A CITY IN THE FOREGROUND 

amusement he was well known to deprecate. He was 
accused, therefore, of being a “ disturbing element.” The 
familiarity between taught and teacher, which took the 
form of a mutual exchange of Christian, and even nick- 
names, was held to be so undesirable that at one time 
it was seriously debated whether a college meeting 
should arraign the guilty man, convict him of unsuit- 
ability for his post, and demand at once his resignation. 
It was, however, admitted that Creighton was useful 
in attracting the “ best sort of man ” to Knox, and since 
his removal from the college would cause greater bitter- 
ness than his retention, the plot was allowed to lai>se. 
Fortunately, the President himself stood by Creighton 
through all his troubles. He had taken a fatherly in- 
terest in the young man ever since his first arrival as 
an undergraduate, and though his partisanship was said 
by some to be due entirely to the social position of his 
protege, he remained undaunted by gossip, and set him- 
self to keep in check the intrigues which even he, after 
years of blindness, had been forced at last to notice. 

Fortune at length gave to the authorities the chance 
for which they had long waited. Creighton was asked 
as a guest to the terminal dinner of the “ Bats,” a dining 
club which held its orgies, in turn, at different colleges. 
On this occasion Christ Church was the chosen scene, 
and though he naturally remained perfectly sober, Hard- 
ing, his own particular host, was not so abstemious. 
With over-conscientious solicitude Creighton set himself 
to watch over the unfortunate young man, thereby bring- 
ing the wrath of heaven, and his own immediate 
superiors, on to his unfortunate head. It was not until 
five minutes to midnight that he managed to get his 
companion started on the return journey, and then it 


A CITY IN THE FOREGROUND 79 

was only after a painful and prolonged detour that he 
propped him against the Knox gate at a quarter past 
twelve. This in itself was unfortunate, for college rules 
allowed but a margin of ten minutes after “ lock up.’* 
Alone, however, it would not have been fatal. Under 
the wing of a don it was possible to enter Knox at 
any hour. Creighton had his own key, and had tried 
to smuggle his embarrassing cargo into the quad unseen 
of the porter. Unfortunately Harding, who had been 
dumb or merely murmurous during the greater part of 
the journey, chose to signalise his delight at reaching 
home by a shout so prolonged and shrill that the 
porter came, hastily clothed, to seek the cause of the 
disturbance. He had scarcely reached the door of his 
lodge when Harding flung himself weeping upon his 
neck, and with a resounding kiss implored that he might 
be called early in view of the fact that he was to be 
crowned Queen of the May ! Further disguise was use- 
less. The porter, left to himself, might have said 
nothing, but Harding’s cry had brought Mason upon the 
scene to investigate. The meeting between him and 
Creighton over the recumbent body of the young student 
had in it certain elements of drama, but the protagonists 
felt that the situation was almost too poignant to admit 
of aesthetic appreciation. Mason peered shortsightedly 
at the crumpled heap on the pavement, and with a con- 
demnatory sniff turned to his colleague. “ Whoever this 
is,” he said, “he is in a bestial condition. You had 
better summon assistance, Creighton, and have him put 
to bed before he wakes the whole college,” with which 
speech he had shuffled off to resume his own rudely 
disturbed rest. Creighton, meanwhile, with a heavy 
heart, saw his young friend to safety, and as he un- 


8o 


A CITY IN THE FOREGROUND 


dressed and got into bed he knew that scandal would 
be busy with the first streak of dawn. 

The opposition had at last found a real weapon with 
a cutting edge. “ Camel’s ” friends knew that the posi- 
tion was dangerous, if not actually desperate, and they 
awaited anxiously the verdict of the college meeting 
which had been summoned to deal out justice. As yet 
no decision had been made public, and in the interval 
“ Camel ” made it clear that no criticism of the authorities, 
and no effort to demonstrate in his favour would meet 
with any sympathy from him. Several of his intimates 
found this attitude unsatisfactory. Geoffrey, in par- 
ticular, would have loved to head a violent offensive 
to win over public opinion to his friend’s support. 
“ Camel’s ” influence over him was, however, so strong 
that not only did he curb his own instincts, but actually 
blamed Charles for the ill-timed expression of his 
sympathy. 

It was at this, the least auspicious moment he could 
have chosen, when Creighton’s power was on the eve 
of being attacked with fair hope of success, that Hugh 
elected to join the circle of his friends. The impressions 
of one evening had united to sweep away the prejudices 
of months, and now, at the very moment when he might, 
with some show of justice, have said, ** I told you so,” 
the gods saw fit to bring him suddenly under the in- 
fluence of the man to whom for so long he had been a 
stranger. 


CHAPTER V 


Hugh slept badly that night, with the result that he 
arrived earlier than he had intended at King Edward 
Street. It was striking nine as he walked into Colqu- 
houn’s room, where, before the open window, breakfast 
was laid for four. His host would, he knew, be late. 
He trusted that the young Knox freshman whom he had 
been asked to meet would be late too. He had no desire 
to entertain other people’s guests, and he felt that he 
could bear the meal more easily in the purely artificial 
atmosphere created by Colquhoun’s presence. He lit 
his pipe, lay down on the window-seat, and let his eyes 
wander lazily round the room. Well though he knew 
it, he always derived pleasure from taking in its details 
afresh. There was about the mise en scene some- 
thing that told so innocently of the poseur that the tale 
in the very telling took on a certain unintentional and 
human simplicity. Nobody who entered the room for 
the first time, unless they were young and inexperienced, 
could have doubted for an instant the intentions of its 
owner. It was designed to impress, and yet, behind the 
exuberance of its self-assertion, there was, somehow, such 
an air of transparent self-satisfaction that it seemed 
almost as though Colquhoun was really interested in the 
things he thrust so aggressively into the faces of his 
guests. Heine once said of a certain patriot that he 
was by birth a shoemaker, and by profession a Pole. 

8i 6 


82 A CITY IN THE FOREGROUND 

Colquhoun might have said, and probably did say, of 
himself that he was by birth a politician, and by pro- 
fession a genius. 

From his earliest infancy he had mapped out his 
career in every detail, and in his journey to attain the 
goal of his ambitions he was fortunately not encumbered 
by the sentimental handicap of convictions. At the 
present moment, recognising the dearth of promise in 
the ranks of the opposition, he was giving his political 
support to the younger branch of the Tory party, with- 
out, however, losing sight of the possible advisability 
of a change of allegiance in the future. His particular 
speciality was mediaeval history; he was said to be 
one of the greatest authorities on Feudalism in Oxford, 
and the bookcases, packed with volumes technical and 
historical, left little doubt as to the special province of 
knowledge which the great man intended the world to 
regard as his own. Though he ostensibly concentrated 
on this department of serious research, Colquhoun, how- 
ever, allowed nobody to forget that his interests and 
abilities were manifold. If he was famous at the Union 
for his wit, which he modelled indiscriminately upon the 
tradition of Wilde, Shaw, Belloc, and Chesterton, he 
was known to the non-political part of the University 
for his facile journalism, and his remarkable personal 
appearance. Those of his book-shelves which were not 
filled with volumes of Monkish Chronicles showed the 
backs of a variety of Greek and Latin classics, and an 
exhaustive collection of modern literature. The few 
spaces left upon his walls by trophies and maps were 
filled by one or two Rowlandson prints, and a few good 
examples of modern caricaturists. He had long ago 
decided to take his first class in history, though as a 


A CITY IN THE FOREGROUND 83 

matter of fact he had considerable claims to classical 
eminence. After a distinguished performance in “ mods ” 
he had, however, upon due consideration, abandoned the 
“ humaner letters.” Disraeli, he admitted, was attracted 
by speculation, but this, as he had stated recently at 
the Union, was “due to a deplorable weakness in that 
great maji for enthusiasm.” He himself would never be 
guilty of such gaucherie, and he gave the world to under- 
stand that he abandoned reluctantly the sphere of 
abstract thought for the practical domain of affairs. In 
his heart of hearts he probably recognised that success 
might be more difficult for him in the realm of meta- 
physics. His great strength, after all, was his power of 
seeing his own limitations. As a friend once said of 
him, “ Colquhoun is all he knows on earth, and all he 
needs to know.” 

To his enemies he was entirely hateful, and even to 
his acquaintances just a little repellant. But those of 
his real friends who knew him well could find beneath 
the actor something to love and respect. It was neces- 
sary to accept the man only partly at his own valuation. 
He cut a certain figure among his contemporaries, and the 
very boast by which he tried to defend his attitudinising, 
was itself no small part of the pose. He gloried in his 
tricks, ostensibly because they brought him notoriety, 
and helped him to carry forward his career. In reality, 
the secret of much of his character was to be found, on 
intimate scrutiny, in a simplicity and an eager delight 
in the whimsical that was childish to an almost abnormal 
degree. In the middle of a brilliantly egotistic harangue 
he would suddenly betray, in some remark, an im- 
maturity of outlook, a simple humour, so unexpected 
that it was, for a moment, quite unnerving. It was prob- 


84 A CITY IN THE FOREGROUND 

ably to this strange element in his character that he 
owed his friends, of whom he had dozens, and before 
whom he laid aside as a rule the equipment of mental 
fireworks which he used for the amusement of his 
acquaintances, and the persuasion of possible supporters. 
He was senior to Hugh, but for some inscrutable reason 
had taken a violent liking for him quite unconnected with 
political or social aims, which could gain no possible 
advantage from the intimacy. Possibly he intended to 
make of Hugh a Boswell to his Johnson. Certainly he 
used the friendship to unburden himself of epigrams, 
poems and articles before they were submitted to the 
criticism of the general public, and Hugh raised no 
objection to playing the part of the dog upon whom 
these various concoctions were tried. It amused him to 
study the great man at rest, and if he criticised but little 
to Colquhoun’s face it was that he preferred to watch 
the antics of his friend rather than make futile attempts 
to guide his steps. Quietly, and without voicing his 
conclusions, he studied every aspect of this egotism. 
He saw clearly enough that men with vivid personalities 
usually disliked Colquhoun intensely. Geoffrey, for in- 
stance, could hardly mention his name unmoved. He 
loathed the whole man, and took little trouble to hide 
his feelings. Egotists are seldom friends, and Geoffrey 
was far too self-assertive to bear with patience the same 
character in others. He could never listen without im- 
patience to Colquhoun’s long dissertations on his own 
triumphs, and to Hugh’s attempts at palliation turned 
merely an angry or a surly ear. He complained that 
Colquhoun never talked of anything or anybody but 
himself, and in reply to Hugh’s rejoinder that Colqu- 
houn, at any rate, was amusing about himself, which 


A CITY IN THE FOREGROUND 85 

was better than being dull about other people, stamped 
away in a sudden fury. 

One of Colquhoun’s most persistent traits was his 
hatred of being seen in negligee. Even with his most 
intimate friends he was always in full dress. A story 
was whispered in the college that once upon a time he 
had been inveigled into joining a reading party, and 
that in a far corner of Shropshire sudden illness had 
overtaken him. In those dark days when he feared for 
his life (quite unnecessarily according to the rest of the 
party), he had actually been seen in bed by John 
Delmeage. The details of the revelation are lacking to 
this day. John refused to speak of the episode, and the 
issues involved were held to be far too serious to admit 
of jokes. It is certain that Colquhoun never joined 
another reading party, and risked no further intrusions 
into his privacy. To Oxford generally and to his 
friends he appeared always elaborately arrayed. He 
affected “ cravats ” instead of ties,” coats of an ex- 
treme tightness, trousers of alarming width, and small 
but luxuriant side whiskers. Various small touches of 
dandiacal elegance helped to complete a figure which 
all in the University knew by sight. As might be 
guessed, the central article of Colquhoun’s creed was 
that “ not to be ignored is half way to greatness.” 

The daily completion of his toilet, added to a certain 
laxity in rising, resulted in his being always late for 
breakfast, and Hugh had a long wait before his host 
appeared. The other guests, trusting presumably to 
their knowledge of the great man’s habits, were later 
still, and no one but he was in the sitting-room when 
Colquhoun sailed in, elegant, composed and smiling, at 
about half-past nine. 


86 A CITY IN THE FOREGROUND 

“ Good-morning, Hugh,” he drawled, “ I shall not 
apologise for being late until I am certain that nobody 
can overhear me. Besides, I’m not : you’re early, a very 
different thing.” 

“ As a matter of fact,” replied Hugh, “ I didn’t think 
you’d appear much before ten, but I was afraid that your 
young man would be here before me, and I didn’t want 
to miss seeing the first effects of the Colquhoun atmo- 
sphere on the young and innocent.” Despite their 
intimacy, Hugh had never quite got over a certain self- 
consciousness in his relationship with Colquhoun. When- 
ever they met he was tempted to a display of facetious- 
ness which always annoyed him because he realised its 
cheapness, though he could never avoid committing 
himself. As a rule he settled down quickly to conversa- 
tion after the first few false steps, but he seldom steered 
clear of the initial awkwardness. 

“ It is one of the unpleasant duties of the old to enter- 
tain the young,” said Colquhoun. French is politically 
inclined, I believe, and it is just as well to catch novices 
before their natural desire for self-advertisement deteri- 
orates into indiscriminate enthusiasm. Hullo,” as the 
door opened, “ here’s Harold : good-morning, Harold, 
I hope you are in a brilliant mood. This is a strictly 
business meeting, and I rely on you for the conversation. 
You possess the fine flower of the Oxford manner, and 
you’re here to impress our young friend with the in- 
tellectual supremacy of Knox.” 

“ My dear Theodor, this ‘ praise from Sir Hubert Stan- 
ley ’ is a little overpowering so early. Where’s the guest ?” 

“He was asked for half-past nine, and this, if I 
mistake not — to quote the immortal Holmes — is he.” 

Steps which had been heard upon the staircase during 


A CITY IN THE FOREGROUND 8; 

this speech did indeed stop outside the door, upon 
which a timid knock now sounded. A moment later the 
expected visitor entered shyly, stood awkwardly for a 
moment in a terror of embarrassment, dropped a note- 
book, blushed, picked it up, laid it on the sofa at his 
host's suggestion, with his gown, which he had brought 
in preparation for a lecture later in the morning, and 
was introduced to the room in general. 

Colquhoun's eye wandered to the notebook on the 
sofa. “ I see the dons have already intentions upon 
you,” he said, as they sat down to breakfast. “ The 
system of lectures is really nothing but a highly in- 
genious method invented by them and brought to a high 
pitch of efficiency for the sole purpose of perpetuating 
a caste. Undergraduates who attend lectures get 
‘firsts' in the schools, and later become ‘dons,' those 
who keep away from them get ‘thirds,' and become 
Cabinet ministers — I don't believe I've been to a lecture 
since my first term.” 

French drew the intended inference in the middle of 
his first cup of coffee, spluttered, got very red, and made 
matters worse by trying to swallow a complete sausage. 
Harold thought it advisable to ease the situation. 

“ By the way, Hugh, what fastness of North Oxford 
had you been exploring last night ?” he asked. 

“I went to a dance at the Winstan leys'. Don't be 
inveigled into the social gaieties of Oxford family life,” 
he added, turning to French; “my life has been blighted 
by the kindness of friends who gave me letters of intro- 
duction when I came up. I expect you've got an aunt 
who knows some ‘ really charming people ' in the Ban- 
bury Road. Take my advice, don't have anything to 
do with them.” 


88 A CITY IN THE FOREGROUND 

“ There’s an old friend of my father’s who lives on 
Headington Hill; I’m going to lunch there on Sunday, 
but that’s all,” said French. 

“ It’s the thin end of the wedge : once you begin that 
sort of thing there’s no stopping, you go from bad to 
worse until you end at the Winstanleys’ ; that’s always 
the last stage.” 

“I remember riding out to pay a call my first term,” 
remarked Harold, “ somewhere beyond Keble. I 
staggered into Woodstock, just as it was getting dark, 
with a punctured tyre, but I never found the house, and 
I wasn’t asked again.” 

“ My dear Harold,” remonstrated Colquhoun, “ you 
really mustn’t read the ‘ Isis ’ as you do. I must apolo- 
gise,” turning to his guest, “ for Goldsmith’s threadbare 
wit ; he probably went to bed early, it is a foible of his. 
As for myself, I am not popular with the residents, which 
is a nuisance, as it necessitates ihy paying a number of 
calls every term. One mus/ cultivate one’s enemies.” 

‘*That reminds me,” said Hugh, “Mrs. Winstanley 
sent you a message.” 

“ Don’t tell it me ; I know beforehand what it is. I’m 
sure she called me ‘ That young man ’ ?” 

“ She did.” 

“ That’s all that I need hear, it’s her key phrase : the 
sense of what remains may be inferred. Well, it might 
be worse, after all ; condemnation is the^sincerest form of 
flattery.” 

“ Or the severest ?” 

“ What’s the difference ?” 

“A question such as that,” said Harold, turning 
elaborately to French, “gives you an opportunity for 
repartee and epigram such as will, perhaps, never be 


A CITY IN THE FOREGROUND 89 

repeated. Search your memory for the crumbs of some- 
body’s wit, turn to yourself and strike out a spark of 
brilliant paradox that shall hang upon the night of 
Oxford culture ‘ like a bright jewel in an Ethiope’s ear.’ 
In short, tell my friend Mr. Colquhoun what the differ- 
ence is.” 

“ Don’t take any notice of Harold,” said Hugh to the 
unfortunate youth, who was swallowing his embarrass- 
ment in almost visible lumps, “ the early morning always 
affects him.” 

“ Mrs. Winstanley,” continued Colquhoun, “ is unfor- 
tunately rather touchy on the subject of dons. To have 
married one when an inexperienced girl might be for- 
given as a foolish indiscretion, but to strive, as she does 
in later life, to persuade the world that it was done from 
conviction, looks too much like a sinister plot against 
society to be ignored. It appears that her attention 
was drawn to a short poem of mine in last week’s 
‘Varsity’ which she took as a personal insult. It 
began : 

‘ The Lecturer in classical obscenity 
Is old and fat and rather short of breath.’ 

She is strangely intolerant about these matters.” 

“You mustn’t be unkind about Mrs. Winstanley, 
Theodor,” said Harold with mock severity. “She is a 
great friend of mine — to my face — and has said some 
very funny things about you.” 

Colquhoun, once started on his pet subject, was hard 
to interrupt. He continued unabashed, “That reminds 
me. I’ve got rather a good ballade I’m writing. I 
think I shall send it to the ‘ Mag,’ though I doubt their 
welcoming it with open arms. I’ll read it to you.” He 


90 A CITY IN THE FOREGROUND 

got up and rummaged in the litter of papers on his 
writing-table. “Here it is; just listen,” and he began 
to declaim in the slow, nasal voice which he always kept 
for recitation : 


“ Ballade of Decadent Desire. 

“ I feel inclined to smoke expensive blends, 

I think debauches must be rather fun, 

I find my taste exuberantly tends 
To do the sort of things that are not done. 

1 want to leave the water on the run 
And lie with all the wives of all my friends : 

I’ll patronise the inns of Doctor Lunn — 

1 want to burn the candle at both ends. 

“ I’ve got a way of eating that offends : 

I’ve bought a meerschaum that my scout’s begun, 

I ’ll even smoke it (if he condescends 
To change the mouthpiece for another one). 

I want to be the type that people shun. 

To tread the path that ‘ easily descends.’ 

How is an evil reputation won? — 

I long to burn the candle at both ends.” 

“ I’ve not quite worked out the last stanza yet, but there’s 
a jolly little envoi — 

” ‘ Prince, tell me how this sort of thing’s begun. 

On you my future happiness depends : 

Let’s have a drop of absinthe and a bun — 

I’d love to burn the candle at both ends.’ ” 

This glimpse into the great man’s workroom was dis- 
tinctly flattering to French, who felt himself already 
accepted as an equal. “ Jolly good,” he ventured, there- 
with breaking the long silence in which he had devoured 
his breakfast. This burst of talkativeness was, how- 
ever, short-lived, for the sound of his own voice unnerved 
him, and he blushed violently at his temerity. 

“ Theodor,” said Harold, “ when the voice of the young 
and innocent commends, we, the jaded flaneurs of a 


A CITY IN THE FOREGROUND 91 

dying civilisation, are silent. You have been acclaimed 
by the younger generation : what more can you wish 
for? For my own part, I detect weak points in your 
genius. The double use of the word ‘ begun * as a line 
termination offends my ear : still, I am soured and 
possibly over-critical : I hesitate to press the point. At 
the same time,” turning to French, “I think it only fair 
to warn you that your generous enthusiasm may have 
disastrous effects upon your career. Our friend has a 
way of reading all his compositions aloud whenever he 
can be sure of a sympathetic audience. Take my advice; 
don’t be too extreme in your commendation.” 

Colquhoun, whose vanity, strangely enough, was 
rather tender on this point, laughed self-consciously; 
but French, to whom at the moment the prospect of 
filling the position of literary confidant offered a rosy 
future, said nothing. 

Warmed, doubtless, by his guest’s obvious approval, 
Colquhfoun proceeded to voice a kindly interest in his 
powers. “You speak, don’t you ?” he asked. 

“Speak?” French looked slightly puzzled. 

“ Yes, I’m told you came up with a reputation as a 
budding politician.” 

“Oh, I used to jaw a bit in the debating society at 
school, but that’s nothing.” His blushes were occa- 
sioned, this time, by a pleasurable embarrassment at 
finding himself not altogether unknown, mingled with 
a certain distaste at having to confess his own insignifi- 
cance. 

“ Have you done anything at the Union yet ?” 

“ Theodor, your tact has deserted you,” laughed 
Hugh. “French made quite a sensational maiden 
speech last week.” 


92 A CITY IN THE FOREGROUND 

“Oh, I only got a few moments right at the end. 
Everything had been said.” 

“It always has been, that’s why the Union’s such a 
good test for young speakers. To say brilliantly what 
twenty other people have said dully is the essence of 
political oratory.” 

“I hope you didn’t ask any questions at question 
time ?” queried Harold. 

“ No.” 

“Excellent. To the budding politician the Union 
offers two alternatives. He may become either a pro- 
fessional bore or a professional humorist. Occa- 
sionally, of course, he manages to be both, but for the 
moment we will ignore that possibility. If he confines 
himself to the latter, he concentrates his brain on the 
asking of facetious questions ; if the former, he may hope 
in the course of timj to reach an official position from 
which he may answer them. Parliament, seeking to 
enlist new recruits from the ranks of the promising young 
men of the Universities (such is the fond dream of our 
Union debaters) is apt, I believe, to prefer the profes- 
sional bore.” 

“ Ignore Harold,” drawled Colquhoun, “ he’s only a 
critic, and Dizzy was profound about critics. I want 
to talk to you seriously about this. The Union’s not 
the only political hunting-ground here, though it’s well 
enough in its way. Don’t bother too much about it; 
just keep yourself in the public eye, take office as a 
matter of course when your time comes, and then forget 
about it as soon as you can. The place to do really 
good work is in the smaller clubs.” 

To French, with all the freshman’s reverence for the 
Union of which he had heard so much, such talk was 


A CITY IN THE FOREGROUND 93 

almost as impressive as it was intended to be. Colqu- 
houn managed to convey a subtle flattery by his gentle 
assumption of an ultimate presidency for the newcomer, 
and still more by his suggestion of something infinitely 
more important in the background. His firm refusal 
even to envisage defeat or delay had led to success in 
his own case, and never failed to stimulate his political 
recruits. 

As soon as he switched the talk on to the subject of 
public life, his tone lost its note of cynical banter, and 
he spoke solemnly, with that fine seriousness of which 
he was so completely a master whenever he wished to 
impress an audience. Even at Oxford Colquhoun was 
skilled in all the tricks of rhetoric, and though others 
could rival him in verbal brilliance, knowledge or power 
of debate, he almost invariably carried the day by 
means of his versatility and his mastery of oratorical 
finesse. 

“ Look here,” he continued, “ you’d better concentrate 
this term on the * Peel.’ Leave the Union alone for 
a bit; take care of the undergraduates and the votes 
will take care of themselves. If you’re going in for 
politics up here, you’ve got to begin by getting the 
right point of view. I suppose you want to be President 
of the Union, don’t you ?” 

French, too embarrassed to reply, choked audibly. 

. “ All right ; who elects you ? A lot of little boys who 
are under the impression that they are men — some with 
white skins, some with black, some with yellow, and 
all with earnest, intense, rather stupid minds. You’ve 
got to get rid of the * Dreaming Spires ’ attitude to 
Oxford. It’s no good looking on all these young men 
as your intellectual equals if you want to succeed. If 


94 A CITY IN THE FOREGROUND 

you’ve got the idea of a leadership in a republic of 
brains as typifying the position of the politician in 
Oxford, the sooner you get rid of it the better. You’re 
a Londoner in a provincial town, the most provincial in 
England; the voters are of no interest to you, the votes 
are. Do what I tell you, and you’ll get them when the 
time comes. I don’t care what your method is if you’ll 
remember the one essential thing, that your constituents 
are provincial to the backbone, with all the narrowness 
of intellectual priggery added to their other vices, they 
are young and strangely unintelligent, a properly 
organised campaign will win every time.” 

‘‘Theodor,” remarked Harold, “you are supreme this 
morning : even I, in all these years, have never heard so 
clear an exposition of your creed.” 

Colquhoun took no notice of the interruption. “ The 
‘Peel’s* meeting on Friday; I’ll get Dawson to in- 
troduce you and propose you for membership; he can’t 
very well refuse, as I’ve nominated him for Junior 
Librarian next term. I’d better have nothing official 
to do with you at present. You can speak towards the 
end. I’ll see you get an opportunity, though of course 
it must look like accident; all you've got to do is to 
make it short and strong, with plenty of self-assurance. 
Follow it up next week with something on the same 
lines at the Union, just by way of recreation, don’t take 
it too seriously, and then in about a fortnight I’ll get 
them to put you in charge of the opposition at the 
Peel.’ That ought to bring you on to the ‘ paper ’ 
at the Union about the end of term, say the last debate, 
which will mean a pretty good start for you in October. 
Do a little stump oratory for the party during the vac, 
it’s good advertisement, and then you can put up as a 


A CITY IN THE FOREGROUND 95 

senior candidate next term. Put up for office, you’ll fail, 
but it’ll bring you the secretaryship of the ‘ Peel ’ 
for Easter, and then you’ll be able to look after your- 
self. I like the idea; Grimes had bad luck with his 
protege, and nobody thinks I’ve got anybody up my 
sleeve, so that the position is considerably strengthened.” 

“ Ha, Theodor, the cloven hoof at last ! Hugh, this 
is no place for us; we are young, we have illusions, 
we believe in the nobility of democracy and the inviol- 
ability of the ballot. Close your ears to the siren, French, 
read your Plato, and be saved before it is too late.” 

“ Shut up, Harold, this is a serious discussion. Look 
here, French, I don’t see what’s to stand up against us 
if you do as I say.” 

“ Theodor, you’re incorrigible,” Hugh interrupted. 
“ I don’t suppose French wants to stick himself on to 
a party ticket in this way at all, do you ?” to the slightly 
abashed visitor. 

“ I want to go in for politics, I should like to speak, 
but I don’t know a great deal about anything yet : I’ve 
got no strong party views.” 

“ What do views matter ?” answered Colquhoun. 
” Before you touch politics you’ve got to learn that all 
views are disputable, all positions open to attack. 
Government is a business, it’s got to be workable, it 
must be organised and strong : whatever you do, don’t 
become an independent unless you want to spend the 
rest of your life taking the chair at meetings of emascu- 
late minorities.” 

“ Theodor,” continued Hugh, “ you’re like a mother 
who makes her children walk too soon. If you listen to 
him, French, your mind will be bandy-legged for the 
rest of your life. Help me to save him, Harold, before 
it is too late.” 


96 A CITY IN THE FOREGROUND 

“No thanks, Tm getting too much pleasure from the 
artistic excellence of the conflict to jump down into the 
arena. I think I shall write a new ‘ Choice of Hercules,’ 
French between Fame and Honesty, though at present 
the composition lacks balance : I must make Honesty 
more alluring than you do.” 

Deprived of his opportunity for monologue, Colqu- 
houn relaxed his mood of intensity, and became once 
more rather languid. The drawl crept back into his voice. 

“ Hugh is a victim of ‘ Greats,’ ” he said, “ Knox has 
much to answer for, but its chief crime is that of taking 
education seriously. In some colleges ‘ Greats ’ are 
harmless. They are regarded, justly, as a necessary 
evil against which it is possible to insure by submitting 
to the advice of a certified tutor. If you become in- 
terested in your ‘ Schools,’ a mistake I cannot too 
strongly condemn, the sole excuse and justification lies 
in getting a first, and, given average intelligence in the 
pupil, that can be guaranteed with reasonable certainty 
without worrying unduly about insoluble problems. The 
attitude of Knox is perverse and heretical. It is still 
governed by the Socratic fallacy that knowledge is its 
own reward. It affects to disregard the tangible prize, 
with the result that it turns loose into the world troops 
of ineffectual young men with minds so broad that they 
drown in them before they can reach the shore. They 
wallow in ‘ the pleasure of believing what they see is 
boundless, as they — know their minds to be.’ It is a great 
pity that Mr. Balfour was not at Knox; he would have 
been highly thought of there.” 

French was beginning to feel more at his ease. “ But 
surely you said just now that those who got ‘ thirds ’ 
became Cabinet ministers,” he ventured. 

“Hoist with your own petard, Theodor,” laughed 


A CITY IN THE FOREGROUND 9; 

Harold. ** You have a budding instinct for logic, 
French, which will handicap you unduly. I’m afraid, in 
your future career in Parliament, and at the Bar— I 
suppose you are going to the Bar ?” 

“ I believe so.” 

“ You would be untrue to your college and your 
University if you didn’t. It is the natural and usual 
career for the Knox undergraduate. You will spend 
much of your last year at Oxford in eating legal 
dinners ; you will be called to the Bar about a year after 
you go down. You will then take to one of the more 
reputable forms of journalism, which you will pursue 
rather furtively while you husband your powers for dis- 
play at the dinner-tables of the less bourgeois section 
of political hostesses. You will end, probably by enter- 
ing Parliament, becoming an under-secretary, and writ- 
ing articles for the ‘Round Table.’ ” 

“ What else is one to do ?” 

“What else indeed? With a casual question you set 
the whole fabric of our civilisation rocking. It is the 
pride of Oxford that she gives a thoroughly useless 
education, and turns her children out in thousands to 
worship at the Inns of Court. On the whole, French, 
I think Theodor’s advice is good. Be a party politician, 
it will at least save you from becoming aimless. You 
will escape the temptation to become a ‘ don,’ a social 
reformer or an author. There is no other way out, un- 
less of course you think seriously of the Civil Service. 
That, however, involves an examination in which a 
knowledge of facts is demanded.” 

For a second Hugh felt himself overpoweringly out 
of tune with the dominant note of the conversation. 
He was jerked, almost to his own surprise, into sudden, 
protesting speech. 


7 


98 A CITY IN THE FOREGROUND 

“ Harold, I don’t like you when you speak like that !” 

“My dear Hugh, don’t be unnerving. Disillusion- 
ment is the privilege of the young.” 

“And the duty of the old,” chimed in Colquhoun, 
who felt that others were usurping his position of leader- 
ship in the conversation. “The tendaQ,Qf^_of_ age Js^ 
towar clg,^.]Td£cepJl;is!n.’’ 

Hugh still felt chafed and sore. “ Don’t listen to 
them, French,” he cried. “ They don’t either of them 
believe what they say, at least Harold doesn’t. ‘ Greats ’ 
is a wonderful school, Knox is a wonderful college. If 
what Theodor says about it is true, we might just as 
well be at a Polytechnic. Give Oxford a chance, and 
for God’s sake don’t turn it into a wretched nest of 
political intrigue.” He stopped short, got up suddenly, 
and walked over to the mantelpiece to fill his pipe. 
The violent access of bitterness left as quickly as it had 
seized him, and he was conscious only of feeling rather 
foolish. 

There was an awkward silence, broken by the trickle 
of an almost empty coffee-pot, from which Harold was 
trying to fill his cup. Theodor was smiling, and French, 
as Hugh could see, was grinning furtively, with an eye 
on his host, in an attempt to ape the prevailing attitude 
of tolerant cynicism. “ I’ve no use for him,” he thought to 
himself. “He’ll do anything that Theodor tells him: 
he’s after a patron, and he looks like getting one.” 

Once again Harold came to the rescue, breaking in on 
a note of banter. “ The * Camel ’ is a living example of 
Theodor’s theory. He is continually deceiving himself 
— and others : all the same, he’s a dear ; you should 
cultivate him, if for no other reason than as a counter- 
irritant to Theodor.” 


A CITY IN THE FOREGROUND 99 

“ He asked me to breakfast, and I went to his rooms 
one evening, but I didn’t know anyone then.” 

“ Don’t let that deter you. Many a newcomer to Knox 
has dismissed the ‘ Camel * with those very words, but 
it is a mistake. Get to know him, and you’ll know 
more people in Oxford than you can remember by sight. 
Besides, it’s your duty. To know ‘Camel’ is — a con- 
servative education.” 

Colquhoun transferred himself to the sofa. 

“ I wish you wouldn’t let your passion for natural 
history overflow into your conversation, Harold,” he 
said. " Who, or what, is this — er — ‘ Camel ’ ?” 

It was one of Colquhoun’s most usual and most irritat- 
ing poses to feign ignorance of the obvious. Goldsmith 
turned to French with a slightly malicious smile. “Take 
note of your leader, observe him well : he is of a genera- 
tion that knows not ‘Camel,’ therefore ‘Camel’ doesn’t 
exist. The ‘Camel,’ my dear Theodor, is the youngest 
thing in Oxford.” 

“ Don’t give way to exaggeration, Harold ; I have not, 
so far as I can remember, seen long-clothed babies in the 
quad, nor heard the patter of little shoon upon the stairs.” 

Harold pretended to be shocked .“ Come, come, 
Theodor,” he said, “ this is the merest affectation.” 

“ Stay,” proceeded Colquhoun, “ now you mention it, 
I have noticed occasionally, as night draws on, a strange, 
grey haired figure frisking with the young in the shadow 
of Hall : one can’t know all the dons of one’s college : 
so many of them only come out after dark. I’m always 
running into funny old men with hair growing out of 
their ears, who munch their beards beneath the stars.” 

“You are the oldest of them all, I think,” laughed 
Hugh. “ I believe you were born with your spats on.” 

“And perhaps the ‘Camel’ will die in his cradle,” 


100 A CITY IN THE FOREGROUND 

added Harold. “ You should take him up, Theodor : I 
should enjoy the sight I was glad to see you there 
last night, Hugh, you have been rather shy of him, and 
he*s a great old man really !” 

“ This colloquial use of ‘ old * and ‘ young ’ is a little 
puzzling,” murmured Colquhoun, and set himself to 
smoke a long cigarette in a still longer holder. “ Isn’t 
this old-young man rather trying, Hugh ?” 

“To you he would be, I think, because you’ve never 
been young, and so can’t see his point of view.” 

“ That is surely better,” replied Colquhoun with a 
yawn, “ than never having been old.” 

“At any rate,” suggested Harold, “in this ‘age of 
youth ’ {vide the daily Press 'passim)^ when only the 
young are old, one needs a certain amount of gay in- 
souciance among the aged to keep a decent proportion 
in life.” 

“What frightful nonsense we’re all talking,” broke in 
Hugh. “Oscar at his very worst. It’s time I was off. 
I’ve got to go ‘ dig ’ hunting : they’re turning me out of 
college next term. By the by, Theodor, are you com- 
ing to the ‘ Congreve ’ to-night ?” 

“ What stupendous truth is being clarified ?” 

“ John is speaking on Modern Art.” 

“ Hs has spoken often on Modern Art : you forget I 
was at school with him.” 

“ This time he is welcoming ‘ the new idiom as a means 
of self-expression.’ ” 

“ He would.” 

“ I’m opposing him.” 

“ I don’t think I’ll come : but I’ll give you some points 
for a speech.” 

“ Thank you for nothing, Theodor.” 


A CITY IN THE FOREGROUND loi 

Well, if you won't take them, I shall have to come : 
they're too good to be lost." 

“ That's right : it'll be rather amusing. You'll be 
there, I suppose, Harold ?" 

“Oh, yes, I always make a point of turning up at all 
the terminal meetings. One must do something in ex- 
change for a beautiful coloured tie." 

“Well, see you to-night, then, Theodor. Thanks for 
brekker, and for the priceless spectacle of you corrupt- 
ing youth. French, I warn you once more; even your 
lecture would be safer than a morning in this house. 
You'll go back to lunch with no convictions, rascally 
politics, and an admiration for Theodor. Well, on your 
own head be it," and he turned towards the door. 

As he reached the street, Harold overtook him, and 
they strolled arm-in-arm into the “High." 

“ I don't very much care for Master French," said 
Hugh. 

“ Oh, he's harmless enough at present," replied 
Harold, “ though Heaven knows what he'll be like after 
a course of Theodor. I left them together. The old 
man knows when he's got hold of promising material, 
and the youth was too flattered to take advice, however 
flippantly given." 

“Yes; I'm glad he never tried to proselytize me. 
Theodor's all right now and again, but he gets on my 
nerves after a bit." 

“You're going dig hunting, aren't you? Well, so 
long. I'm toddling into the ‘ schools ' to watch the latest 
contortions of theWaynflete Professor of Metaphysics: 
he's rather stimulating : not a dull ilioment, always 
funny, never vulgar." 

He turned across the street, and Hugh walked on 
alone to meet Geoffrey on Magdalen bridge. 


CHAPTER VI 


A night’s rest and a bathe in the upper river had 
successfully dissipated Geoffrey’s ill-temper of the 
previous evening. With a large bath towel swathed 
about his neck, and the curls of his close-cropped hair 
glittering like brass filings in the morning sun, he 
bicycled joyfully to the rendezvous. Even a skid in the 
tram lines at the end of Long Wall Street could not 
upset his equanimity, and he greeted Hugh with 
gargantuan shout from afar. 

“ Sorry I’m so late, you old ruffian, but Hinksey back- 
water was too good to leave. Where shall we start? 
I’ve got a whole pile of addresses somewhere,” slapping 
his pockets vaguely. “ Where the hell’s that envelope ? 
Oh, here we are, now then take your choice ; Holywell ? 
noisy, but pleasant; Teddy Street — that doesn’t sound 
bad— eh ?” 

“ Much too expensive.” 

Yes, it is a bit stiff ; I suppose the same objection 
applies to the High; how about Beaumont Street?” 

“ My dear Geoffrey, Beaumont Street’s the Blooms- 
bury of Oxford.” 

“ How does the Cowley Road suit you ? No, damn it ! 
I’m hanged if we do; it’s full of niggers and dim men 
with glasses and celluloid collars. Come along, wake 
up and make a suggestion.” 

■■ Well, giye me a chance, old man. Jt’s precious 
102 


A CITY IN THE FOREGROUND 103 

lucky that IVe not been bathing too, judging by the 
effects on you we should be like a couple of back chat 
comedians if I had/’ 

“Look here, let’s have a look at Teddy Street; there’s 
no harm in that,” replied Geoffrey, “we needn’t settle 
anything, and they’re awfully nice rooms, bath, and 
everything.” 

“ All right, but I’ve no money to chuck away.” 

They moved slowly westward, Geoffrey still on his 
bicycle, leaning with his left hand on Hugh’s shoulder. 

“ As a matter of fact,” continued Hugh, “ I’ve just 
come from there, they are good rooms. While you were 
indulging yourself in the river, / was doing my duty by 
a fresher at Colquhoun’s.” 

“ Then we won’t go to Teddy Street,” said Geoffrey, 
putting on his brake and stepping with his foot on the 
kerb. “I say,” he went on, “you’ve not been having 
brekker with that outsider.” What would have been 
the signal for sullen bad temper a few hours earlier was 
now merely an excuse for rather cheerful, loud-voiced 
abuse. “ He’s loathsome and unspeakable, why on earth 
do you have anything to do with him ?” 

“ For heaven’s sake don’t let’s start quarrelling about 
Theodor; he’s quite amusing.” 

“ I can’t stand the sight of the man. Look here, 
Hugh, you’ll have to mend your ways next term : we 
can’t have that sort of creature creeping about the digs.” 

Hugh was conscious of a sudden wave of hot anger. 
Whatever his own private feelings about Colquhoun 
might be, he was not going to have him abused like 
this. Really, Geoffrey was simply intolerable at times. 
Even in his best moods he never lost his arrogance, and 
life promised to be rather difficult with him. It was not 


104 A CITY IN THE FOREGROUND 

as though Hugh could really stand up against him. He 
felt that his vitality was insufficient to oppose Geoffrey’s 
violence, he was too easygoing, too ready to yield at 
once to avoid a squabble. Strangely enough the one 
person, with the exception of Creighton, to whom 
Geoffrey ever listened was Cyril Harborough, who, 
colourless enough in reality, seemed for some odd reason 
alone capable of softening the violent moods and con- 
trolling the ill-temper of his friend. 

“ If you dislike my friends as much as all that, 
perhaps we’d better make other arrangements about 
digs,” he burst out. 

“ Don’t talk nonsense. I’m not the only person who 
detests Colquhoun.” 

“ Look here, quite apart from that, are you sure you 
want me to come in with you and Cyril ? I don’t really 
know that it’s a good plan. Don’t mind saying if you’d 
rather back out ; I shall quite understand.” 

“ You’re a stupid old fool, Hugh; of course we want 
you; you don’t think I should be such an ass as to say 
so if I didn’t mean it ? You’re always taking things too 
seriously. Cyril and I are the best thing that could 
happen to you. We shall do you any amount of good.” 

At such moments Geoffrey was capable of a sort of 
rough and hearty affection that Hugh found irresistibly 
winning. He began to feel his determination weaken- 
ing, besides, whom else could he go with ? 

“Well, don’t blame me if we quarrel all day long,” 
he said. 

“I certainly shall blame you if Colquhoun comes 
knocking around.” 

“ Let’s leave Colquhoun out of it for a bit.” 

“Righto; still it puts Teddy Street out of the ques- 


A CITY IN THE FOREGROUND 105 

tion. I forgot all about him when I suggested it. I 
can’t stand having him as a close neighbour. The 
whole street must reek of his hair oil !” 

Hugh let him talk himself out. Fate seemed deter- 
mined, grotesquely enough, that they should spend the 
next three terms together, so it was advisable to avoid 
unnecessary friction at the outset. King Edward Street 
was, however, abandoned, and they turned up Queen’s 
Lane to continue the search elsewhere. 

“By Jove, what a topping day,” said Geoffrey, as 
they swung round beneath the bridge at New College 
gate ; “ this is where I should really like to dig, but it’s 
all preserved land, annexes to New Coll, and Hertford. 
My God! just look at the clouds behind the camera!” 
And without any warning he started singing lustily in 
a loud tuneless voice : 

“ There was a shepherd lad 
Kept sheep upon a hill ; 

And he went out one May morning 
To see what he could kill 

Singing — ‘ Blow away the morning dew, the dew, and the dew ; 
Oh ! blow away the morning dew, how soft the winds do 
blow !’ ” 

A few startled wayfarers turned their heads, but took 
no further notice; Hugh laughed happily; what a de- 
lightful companion Geoffrey could be in this mood. 

“ What an amazing person you are,” he said. 

“ It’s you who are amazing,” returned Geoffrey. “ I 
don’t know how you can go about with a solemn face 

on a morning like this ” and he dashed suddenly 

forward on his bicycle, dragging Hugh by the arm until 
they both collapsed breathless against the wall of the 
Bodleian library. 

“ Well, when are we going to begin ?” asked Hugh, 


io 6 A CITY IN THE FOREGROUND 

when he had recovered his breath. “ We haven’t looked 
at anything yet, and it’s getting on for eleven. By the 
way, what about Cyril, doesn’t he want a say in the 
matter ?” 

“ Oh, Cyril’ll agree to whatever we arrange. He left 
the whole thing to me; you’ll find him very accommo- 
dating.” 

“ Well, I’m not sure this isn’t the best part of Oxford 
after all : how about the ‘ Broad ’ ? Let’s poke round 
there a bit, that or Park’s Road, so long as we don’t get 
too near Keble.” 

“ Righto ! As a matter of fact I think I’ve got an 
address of something hereabouts; half a mo, I’ll fish it 
out.” 

There was another frenzied search for the missing 
envelope, which eventually turned up in his trouser 
pocket. 

** Yes, here we are : 55 a, that must be almost opposite, 
53> 55> 57> hullo, I don’t seem to see it; oh, yes, up this 
jolly passage. I say, it looks rather attractive, doesn’t 
it ? * Camel ’ told me about it ; it was a sort of Knox 

colony at one time, and then some men from Gabriel 
Hall took it over. I don’t expect the old girl will 
object to a change, Gabriel ! Gawd !” 

Hugh could not help smiling at the characteristically 
loud voice in which Geoffrey uttered these last words, 
regardless of the fact that they were already in the 
entrance passage, and therefore well within earshot of 
the house. Luckily for his anticipated embarrassment — 
Geoffrey would have suffered no qualm — all the occu- 
pants of the house were out, and were not expected back 
until lunch. 

For the next two hours they explored 55 a, Broad 


A CITY IN THE FOREGROUND lo; 

Street, moving from room to room with loudly expressed 
glee, Geoffrey keeping up a running commentary on the 
furniture, books and photographs of the present owners. 
The house was everything they had hoped for, with an 
excellent bathroom, electric light, large airy rooms, and 
an enchanting landlady whose sole ambition seemed 
to be once again to see her apartments occupied by 
members of Knox. 

“ Look here,” suddenly remarked Geoffrey as they 
sprawled in Gabriel armchairs in the ground floor 
sitting-room, “ if we could only get a fourth we could 
take the whole house. Td rather have someone I know 
about the place, then I needn’t wipe the bath round 
every morning before I get into it !” There was silence 
for a moment, then he added inconsequently, “ Good 
God, look at the fellow’s mantelpiece; he’s got a coat- 
of-arms on his tobacco jar !” 

Hugh took no notice of the last sentence. 

You seem to have settled on these digs,” he said. 

Well, haven’t you ? We shan’t get anything half as 
good anywhere else.” 

“They’re dreadfully expensive.” 

“ My dear Hugh, if I can afford them surely you can : 
I’m the poorest devil in Oxford.” 

“That’s all very well; you don’t mind running into 
debt, I do.” 

“ That’s a nice thing to say ; look here, don’t be a 
damned old fool.” 

“I’m not a fool. I’m simply thinking of my own 
personal comfort.” 

“ My dear Hugh, if you want to go to the Iflley Road, 
why didn’t you say so in the first place.” 

Hugh shifted irritably in his chair. “You know I 


io8 A CITY IN THE FOREGROUND 

don’t want to go to the Iffley Road, but surely there’s 
something in between ; thirty-seven’s a bit stiff you know, 
I didn’t mean to go beyond thirty-two.” 

“ F ive bob a week difference ; why, you won’t notice 
the difference; you really are talking awful rot you 
know. Look what you get thrown in for the extra, a 
garden, topping views, a decent cook, and a bathroom, 
with real hot water: it’s much cheaper than anything 
else in the end.” 

“ The food’ll be hideously dear.” 

“ It’ll be eatable, we shall have something to offer 
guests.” 

“ Your principle seems to be, the more expensive the 
digs, the more people you ought to ask round to run the 
bills up.” 

“Well, damn it all, you don’t expect me to be a 
hermit. However, Cyril and I will pay for our own 
guests : you needn’t be on in that act at all if you’d 
rather not.” 

“ Don’t be more offensive than you can help, Geoffrey ; 
when we have guests we have them as a united dig; of 
course I pay my share.” 

“ Well, now we’ve got all that off our chests, who’s 
going to be the fourth ?” 

Hugh felt that he was being persuaded against his 
own better judgment, but he too had fallen in love with 
the house, and the temptation was overwhelming. He 
gave up the struggle with a good grace. 

“ How about Harold ? I know he wants to change 
his digs, and he’d be a pleasant enough fellow to have 
in the house.” 

“ Harold’s all right, but I don’t know that I want to 
live with him, besides I think he’d get on Cyril’s 
nerves.” 


A CITY IN THE FOREGROUND log 

** Well, whom do you suggest ?” 

Let me think: I know, I’ll get Freddy Sanderson, 
I know he’ll come in, he said only yesterday that he 
was at a loose end.” 

“ Do I know him ?” 

“ Oh, you must know Freddy, surely.” 

“ Of course I do by sight, but I don’t know anything 
about him.” 

“ Oh, he’s a good enough chap, great friend of 
‘ Camel’s ’ ; I knew him at Eton.” 

“ You’ll be rather an Eton and ‘ Camel ’ push in here ; 
how about me ?” 

“ Don’t be so self-conscious. Freddy gets on with 
anybody, you’ll like him awfully.” 

Hugh had met Sanderson once or twice in college, 
but knew little of him, except that he was an elegant 
young man who spent most of his time cracking a long 
whip in the quad and driving out to “ drags ” in a grey 
bowler and a check suit. He had nothing against him, 
and was quite willing to believe in his virtues, though 
as a fellow lodger in Broad Street he would have pre- 
ferred a friend of his own who could have lent him 
support against the Geoffrey-Cyril combination which, 
he realised, would be supreme. Geoffrey, however, had 
a way of dictating his schemes which made opposition 
a difficult and quarrelsome job. Time after time, when 
he was alone, Hugh asked himself how he had drifted 
into this strange partnership with Geoffrey; time after 
time he determined to withdraw from it. When it came 
to the point he never persevered in his intention beyond 
a half-hearted suggestion, which led usually to a short, 
sharp burst of temper from his friend, and a silent 
admission of defeat from himself. If he refused to dig 


no A CITY IN THE FOREGROUND 

with Geoffrey, nothing was left him but a solitary life 
for the next year. He was by no means without friends, 
but most of them were a year senior to him, with the 
result that they had been out of college already some 
time, and were satisfactorily settled, with no room for 
a newcomer. He had no desire to go into lodgings by 
himself, so that, on the whole, Geoffrey’s suggestion had 
been very welcome. He wondered often why on earth 
he had been chosen as one of the projected party, but 
no explanation ever satisfied him, and he was willing 
to regard the whole situation as pleasantly inexplicable. 
Something there was about Geoffrey that had always 
attracted him, and their fairly frequent disagreements 
never threatened seriously to interrupt their friendship. 
At the same time he realised clearly enough that 
Geoffrey’s feeling for him was by no means sufficiently 
strong to induce any sacrifice of his own egotism. 
Geoffrey had many friends whom he could lead and 
control, a few whom he respected and feared. Hugh 
belonged to neither of these classes. Geoffrey, he felt, 
liked him well enough as a companion, though he 
probably realised that he could never rule him, while 
he could never respect and follow him, for the simple 
reason that Hugh, with all his virtues, lacked the 
essential strength of character — none realised it more 
bitterly than he did himself — which could brush aside 
the whims and prejudices of a personality so violently 
energetic and yet, at the same time, so fundamentally 
lacking in stability as Geoffrey’s. 

Thinking it all over later in the day — Hugh always 
kept his problems and difficulties carefully stored away 
in his mind to '' think over later ” — he saw that the whole 
business of the digs had been in a manner so typical 


A CITY IN THE FOREGROUND 


III 


as to verge on satire. He had never a say in the matter 
at all. In the first place he had been talked into spend- 
ing a great deal more than he had originally intended, 
then he had been overruled with regard to the fourth 
man of the party. All through the discussion, if such 
a one-sided affair could be called a discussion, had 
run Geoffrey's self-assertive motif, cropping up in con- 
nection with every detail of arrangement. For instance, 
before separating they had made a final exploration of 
the premises, allotting the rooms for next term. 

“This’ll just do for me,” Geoffrey had said, when he 
saw the back room on the first floor. “ Light and airy, 
with a view of the garden and plenty of room for books.” 
This kind of assumption of literary superiority, com- 
bined with claims for extra comfort in view of overwhelm- 
ing intellectual needs, always exasperated Hugh — 
“ Then I can have the ‘ bedder ’ across the landing, and 
you can have the one upstairs. I tell you what, Hugh, 
you’d better have the big ground floor ‘sitter’ — there’s 
a big table for your work” (this was thrown in as a 
sop) — “ and we can all feed there ” (the real heart of 
the proposal). In this way, after a few ineffectual 
struggles, Hugh had found himself the prospective 
occupant of the “ dining-room,” where all four were to 
be fed, and of a bedroom on the second floor. Geoffrey 
had a bedroom and sitting-room adjoining one another 
on the first floor, while Cyril and Freddy Sanderson 
were to share a study on the second storey, with their 
bedrooms adjoining Geoffrey’s on the first 

The scene came back vividly to Hugh as he was going 
to bed that night. He laughed himself to sleep, but he 
viewed the prospect of October with some misgiving. 


CHAPTER VII 


The “ Congreve ” had been founded as a literary debat- 
ing club some time towards the end of the eighteenth 
century when, presumably, its activities were of a nature 
sympathetic at least to the name of its patron saint 
Under the influence of the Victoria era, however, its 
popularity suffered an eclipse, so that gradually it 
flickered out of existence in the early forties of last 
century. 

Shortly before Hugh Kenyon went to Knox, a few 
enthusiasts, searching for some excuse to create yet 
another society, chanced upon the records of its past 
activities, and decided promptly to revive its forgotten 
glories. 

Now, when clubs are founded in Oxford, the first 
meeting of the first committee has invariably to lay down 
a ruling on the twin questions of terminal dinners and 
club ties. The Congreve, soon to be known affection- 
ately as the “Congers,” was no exception to the rule. 
In view of the fact, however, that there was a general 
wish expressed to make its membership exclusive and 
desirable, it was decided to dine but once a year, and 
to confine ordinary meetings to two a term. This sub- 
ject having been dealt with adequately, the meeting 
next turned its attention to the problem of colours. 
After much discussion these, too, were decided upon and 
embodied in a tie of supreme brilliance, which by dint 

II2 


A CITY IN THE FOREGROUND 113 

of an ingenious modification could be adapted for 
“ evening ” wear. The main result of the decision was 
to make a member of the Conger ” in full ceremonial 
dress look like a waiter who, having forgotten his tie 
in a moment of excitement, had replaced it by the ribbon 
from his straw hat. 

Further, to enhance the distinction, exclusiveness and 
general superiority of the society, it was determined to 
make the annual dinner different from all other annual 
dinners of all other clubs. With this object the matter 
was put, at their own instigation, into the hands of 
several enthusiastic historians, and one or two dilettanti, 
who, with the intention of manufacturing an “Old 
English dinner,” proceeded to compile a menu, on 
the principle of theatrical costumiers (whose generic 
“ eighteenth century ” covers a hundred years and a 
multitude of fashions) from hints and recipes unearthed 
from Pepys, Evelyn, Boswell, and whatever memoirs, 
letters and diaries of the last three centuries they 
could obtain access to. So far only two dinners had 
been held, but both had been wildly successful. None 
but the very young succeeded in digesting the food 
without severe internal trouble, and several of the more 
elderly guests spent a night of agony. Eel pies, barons 
of beef, oyster puddings, old ale, cheese and celery, cannot 
be approached lightly by the middle-aged, and though 
some of the older diners defeated the main body of the 
feast, they found themselves hopelessly beaten at the 
last by the rearguard of port which confronted them 
before they were allowed to leave the table. 

The fame of these orgies was such that the society 
2ound itself soon in considerable danger of becoming 
a dining rather than a debating body. It was sug- 

8 


M4 A CITY IN THE FOREGROUND 

gested by some members that the transformation would 
be all to the good, but the general feeling of the club 
was against any such sacrifice of ideals. It was not 
that the principle of dining, and dining well, failed to 
find general acceptance, but it was felt that, with the 
abandonment of certain intellectual tests, the tone of 
the body would suffer. On the cards of invitation 
issued for the annual meal, the hosts were described 
invariably as the ‘‘ Gentlemen of the Congreve Club,” 
“requefting” with a long-tailed s ‘‘the pleafure” of 
Mr. so-and-so to a “repaf.t,” and it was clear that such 
a charming mannerism could be justified only by the 
maintenance of the intellectual exclusiveness aimed at 
by the original founders. Consequently the six yearly 
“ business ” meetings which, it had been hinted, should 
be discontinued, were maintained with a conscientious- 
ness of attendance which spoke well for the enthusiasm 
of the members. They were held in the rooms of each 
member in turn, and as anybody in the University was 
eligible for election, the activities of the Congreve Club 
were not confined to any one college. If, however, the 
essentially cultured character of the society was main- 
tained by means of its debates, the peculiar flavour 
and atmosphere of the dinner was in them somehow 
lacking. As a debating society the “ Congers ” was 
exactly like every other debating society in Oxford. An 
attempt had been made to confine smoking to church- 
warden pipes, but as this rule was found to militate 
against proper sociability, it was soon dropped, though 
the president and secretary did, as a rule, observe it 
from an exaggerated sense of what was due to their 
offices. The same dessert, the same mulled claret in 
the winter, and iced cup in the summer, was provided 


A CITY IN THE FOREGROUND 115 

for the Congreve by the various college kitchens as for 
societies of a more plebeian nature. The same questions 
were debated, and, be it whispered, sometimes the same 
papers read as in other clubs. In short, but for its 
annual moment of glory, the Congreve was just like any 
of the hundred and one societies that blossom in the 
intellectual and social soil of the University. 

The meeting called to hear John Delmeage’s paper on 
Modern Art was to be held in Charles Dallas’s rooms in 
All Saints’, and there in due course Hugh arrived, to 
find about half a dozen members already assembled. 
Charles himself was mincing elegantly round a mar- 
vellous coffee-making contrivance which was splutter- 
ing angrily upon the table. True to his professed 
doctrine, he refused to touch the food and drink pro- 
vided by the college, and always insisted on his guests 
waiting for their coffee until he could produce some- 
thing wortliy of their acceptance. 

“Perfectly fascinating^ my dear,” he was saying to 
somebody as Hugh entered. “It has to bubble three 
times, but it’s quite too delicious for words, and I’ve got 
some perfectly wonderful little cups for it.” 

He was being assisted by one or two of his friends, 
who moved mysteriously in the shadows after the 
manner of acolytes in attendance on the supreme ritual 
of the church. The rest of the members so far assembled 
lay on sofas and in chairs eating almonds and raisins, 
apples, and a peculiarly nauseating brand of preserved 
fruit, only to be found in the grocery stores of Oxford 
colleges. John was, as usual, in the window seat, his 
favourite place in all rooms, and Harold was lying at 
full length on the floor in front of the empty fireplace. 
Colquhoun had not yet arrived. 


ii6 A CITY IN THE FOREGROUND 

The ‘‘Congers” claimed for its members that they 
were the best to be found among the freshmen of each 
year, and the statement, despite its taint of snobbery, 
did, as a matter of fact, describe the atmosphere of the 
terminal gatherings. Elections were conducted with a 
brave catholicity, and the result was very fairly repre- 
sentative of the talent and charm of the University. 
Awkward silences fell rarely upon the sessions of the 
club, discussions were general, and, as a rule, every 
member was on speaking terms with his neighbours. 

Amid the buzz of conversation, Hugh’s entrance 
passed unnoticed. He stood looking round the room 
for a moment or two to focus his eyes afresh in the 
smoky light, and then walked over to the mantelpiece, 
where he took from an exquisite ivory box one of 
Charles’s faintly scented cigarettes. 

“ Wake up, Harold,” he said, jabbing with his toe at 
the prostrate body. 

“Leave me in peace, Hugh, I’m sleeping off the effect 
of my lekker. It was my first this term, and I found it 
a little overpowering. The professor’s comfortable in- 
timacy with the Absolute is a little embarrassing for 
outsiders.” 

“ I’ve never known such a man for sleep ; if you insist 
on lying there, I shall stand on you, you’re taking up 
more than your fair share of the floor.” In response to 
further kicks, Harold sat up with an effort. “ God 
Almighty !” he said suddenly, “ what a stink, 
Charles !” With a shout, “ Where in hell’s name did 
you get these things ? I’ve never smelt anything like 
them, they remind me of the Burlington Arcade on a 
July afternoon !” 

Charles was momentarily disturbed in his coffee- 
making, and turned a troubled face to the speaker. 


A CITY IN THE FOREGROUND ii; 

“ IFs simply because I can’t bear the smell of tobacco 
in a room, it hangs about the curtains all day. I really 
don’t know what on earth I shall do to-morrow after 
this orgy ; I shall have to go down for a week while the 
place is aired ! Oh, John, my dear, not that pipe of 
yours, c'est trop^ qaT 

“Hullo! John’s being virile, what fun!” laughed 
Harold, scrambling to his feet and stretching his arms 
voluptuously ; “ take no notice of his poses, Charles, 
but get on with the coffee ; my nerves want stimulating.” 

“ My dear, it’s got to boil up once more ; keep it well 
stirred, Oswald,” and Charles turned again to put the 
finishing touches to his handiwork. 

The room differed considerably in its scheme of 
decoration from that of the average undergraduate. The 
panelled walls were painted white, as was the mantel- 
piece, which, thus disguised, seemed less oppressively 
unattractive than it would have, had its rather damaged 
lines and angles remained unadorned. There were few 
pictures, one or two small etchings, framed with gigantic 
mounts, being all that the exquisite Charles would admit 
to his walls. The chair coverings and cushions were of 
bright flowered chintz, giving an impression of feminine 
grace to the windows and the furniture. In front of 
the hearth stood a low broad settee heaped with 
mountainous cushions, and in place of the vast article 
of furniture usually provided by college authorities to 
be the pihce de resistance of all rooms, a small oak 
gate-legged table stood beneath the centre light, which 
shed its dim radiance upon an enormous flat bowl of 
early roses. In a distant corner two large oak candle- 
sticks and a cushioned prie-dieu gave a hint of sacer- 
dotalism. Flowers were abundant, and there was a 
noticeable absence of the disorder usual to the haunts 


ii8 A CITY IN THE FOREGROUND 

of undergraduates. Everything was neatly in its place, 
even to the pipes, which, hardly ever smoked, lay in an 
ordered row upon a small wooden stool beside the fire- 
place. Several ash-trays (elegance unknown elsewhere 
in the college) attempted to lure the careless smoker 
from spoiling, by his thoughtlessness, the chaste beauty 
of the Persian rugs. Needless to say such refinements 
were ignored by the members of the Congreve Club, 
and Charles’s heart was in a continual state of laceration 
throughout the evening. Every ash flicked to the floor, 
every pipe knocked out against his chair legs, stuck like 
a dagger in his sensitive spirit. He trembled to think 
of the state in which his scout would find his room the 
next morning, and thanked his stars that the duty of 
such entertainments fell but rarely to the lot of each 
individual member of the club. 

At last the coffee was announced as ready, with much 
care the cups were filled and distributed, and the room 
settled itself to the business of the evening. 

“A quorum of the Congreve Club being now 
assembled, I call upon the secretary to read the minutes 
of the last meeting.” 

♦ ♦ * * # 

John was in the middle of his paper : “ . . . I don’t 
mind your hating these men if you hate them from 
conviction, what I do ask you to do is to question your 
convictions, test them by constant experiment, be honest 
with yourselves, separate your reasoned beliefs from 
your inherited prejudices, and find out what you really 
do think and believe. Have any of you ever caught a 
familiar scene^ on a sudden, from a new angle ? I don’t 


A CITY IN THE FOREGROUND 119 

mean that superficial difference to which people refer 
when they say : ‘ Oh, I never saw it in that light before !* 
Newness like that is nothing to the revolution I have in 
mind. It only happened twice to me, but both times I 
felt what Paul must have felt on the road to Damascus. 
Near my home in London is a peculiarly suburban 
street, dreary, grey, undistinguished. I cannot re- 
member a time before I knew it; in every twenty-four 
hours I must have walked down it at least twice, and 
it became for me a constant background to my life, 
of which I never took conscious notice at all. So used 
to it had I become that I did not even think of it as 
a definite locality. I find it hard to explain the deadly 
sameness of the place to me — it was simply an unalter- 
able part of my daily environment of which I could not 
get rid, but which was so meaningless that it had for 
me no significance whatever, neither of love nor hate. 
Suddenly, about two years ago, I saw it in a flash as 
something entirely new. I can’t tell you why, I can 
scarcely tell you how, all I know is that one evening, 
perhaps from some freak of light upon the houses, 
perhaps because of some subtle change in myself — I 
wasn’t drunk but perfectly, exhilaratingly, sober — the 
whole place was in a moment different. It was a place 
I’d never seen before, not more beautiful, not more ugly, 
simply appallingly different, so different that I had to 
think before I was sure of my way home. I am told 
that when actors play for several hundred nights in the 
same piece, a time comes when their parts, spoken for so 
long mechanically, become, on a sudden, strange, new 
combinations of words, which have to be relearned and 
rehearsed afresh. The players forget their lines because 
they have for so long repeated them unthinkingly. The 


120 A CITY IN THE FOREGROUND 

slightest mental jerk throws out the delicate machinery 
of their brains, and what was familiar becomes strange 
and difficult. Something of that sort happened to me. 
In this particular case, the change did not last, at least 
not with its first violence. I have never been able to 
recapture that moment of vision, never again have I 
se^ that street as I saw it in a flash two years ago. 

r The second experience of the sort which I have had 
— and this is the one which really matters — was when 
I looked at the work of these young painters with a 
fresh eye, and a clear understanding. It was not that 
I came upon them as things new and sudden. Cezanne, 
Gauguin, Van Gogh, Matisse — I had known them and 
studied them for years, I had exerted myself to realise 
them, and I had failed. One hears a great deal of talk 
about purity of vision, honesty, simplicity, individuality 
of outlook, but I don*t think anyone grasps how difficult 
it is to see things with one’s own eyes. We are the 
children of our history and our environment : we see 
with the eyes of dead men, think with their brains, and 
speak with their lips. The dead rule us, and we have 
no power until we have ceased to live. I believe, with 
Kant, that we live in a medley of phenomena, but I go 
further than Kant, and I say that even phenomena are 
presented to us not by our own power of seeing and 
living under the forms of time and space, but are seen 
by us under the form that comes from the energy of 
vision of our forefathers. 

“When I first saw the work of the great French 
moderns, I found in it, as most of you still find, nothing 
but conscious ugliness, perversity and pose. I attacked 
them, as you have come here to attack me; I saw they 
did not — I refuse to say could not — draw, that they 


A CITY IN THE FOREGROUND 121 

ignored tradition, I accused them of morbidity and de- 
cadence, and then suddenly I saw. What I saw was 
this, that these men were striving consciously to liberate 
themselves from the dead, to give new life to the living ; 
that they found the fresh young body of art and beauty 
chained to the corpse of the ages, and made it their life's 
work to cut the bonds and breathe into her mouth the 
spirit of new being. . . . 

“ . . . You say, as I said then, that the modern move- 
ment is artificial, perverse, wilfully opposed to the tradi- 
tions of the last three centuries. You ask whether I 
really believe that art should unlearn the lessons of its 
masters, whether it should throw overboard the triumphs 
of technique which so many generations have striven 
so painfully to attain. My answer is that I admit the 
artificiality, I glory in the wilfulness, but I deny the 
perversity. . . . The natural man has no art, and he 
has no civilisation. The history of Europe for the last 
nine hundred years is the history of men progressing 
in consciousness, or, if you prefer it, in wilfulness. The 
mission of man is to control, by his will, his intellect 
and his emotions, the unconscious, formless flow of 
nature. Civilisation and progress is the evolution of 
the 6t3o9 of form in the welter of the great unformed. 
That and nothing else has been the lessons of the great 
philosophers, of Plato, Aristotle, Spinoza, Kant. There- 
fore your charge of wilfulness has no power to destroy, 
you must change your line of attack. Why do I 
abandon the lessons of a long tradition ? I do not 
abandon them. I and all those who believe in modernity 
see in this movement an attempt to continue the life of 
tradition, to keep it a living thing instead of holding 
to it as a fixed, eternal, cold and lifeless criterion, from 


122 A CITY IN THE FOREGROUND 

which all reality must inevitably depart the moment that 
it ceases to move. Technique is a triumph only so 
long as it is a struggle : in itself it is no goal, but only 
a prison-house. Your real decadent is he who is com- 
plete master of the means, at the cost of sacrificing 
the spirit. I hear you saying that to go back to the 
days when art was in its infancy, when the masters of 
Ravenna and, later, of Florence, were striving for per- 
fection, is a meaningless lapse into the archaic, that what 
is justified in them, as men trying to read something 
as yet beyond their powers, is only to be condemned 
in a generation which has mastered the difficulties which 
they found so intractable. As a matter of fact I don’t 
altogether believe that the secrets of technique were 
hidden from Cimabue, Giotto, and their unknown fore- 
runners : I hold it as reasonable to suppose that these 
masters found, what is only now being rediscovered, 
that complete mastery of the medium leads to nothing 
but death. The artists of the last two centuries have 
been too busy learning to realise the equal value of un- 
learning. That is the great discovery of this later age. 
These men, whose cause I plead to you, often exagger- 
ate, but their exaggeration is the exuberance of en- 
thusiasm. To them the tradition of vision builds 
nothing but prison walls, they find that, unless they 
strive consciously to break loose, they will continue to 
see only as their fathers saw; they believe in individu- 
ality, they know that art is meaningless as long as it 
reflects nothing but the ideals of tradition. Before the 
individual can express himself he must cease to express 
other people. . I . 

\ “. . . There is one charge in particular that I wish 
to rebut. We do not ignore or despise the masters of 


A CITY IN THE FOREGROUND 123 

the ages. I yield to none in my worship of Rembrandt, 
of the great school of Dutchmen, of Velasquez, of the 
Flemings, or Watteau, of Whistler, of Ingres, but I do 
say that the spirit and vision which flamed in them as 
a living Are is now but a handful of burnt-out ash. 
To imitate the method without the excuse of the inspira- 
tion is to me the most despicable of all forms of artistic 
charlatanry. 

“ There are people in plenty who wish to compromise 
with development by setting an arbitrary limit to pro- 
gress. You will find them admitting the Impressionists, 
but refusing to move beyond them. They smile, a little 
sourly perhaps, but still they smile upon Manet, Degas, 
Renoir, but the mention of Gauguin, Matisse, Picasso, 
and the Post-Impressionists is to them anathema. They 
are illogical, they are afraid. The line of evolution is 
inevitably after the Impressionists the Post-Impres- 
sionists. (The age of representation has passed, never 
to return. To-day we seek to attain reality beneath 
form, we cut away the accidental to reveal the eternal. 
We are accused of sacriflcing form, but what is it we 
sacrifice ? It is nothing but the imperfect, the wrongly 
perceived clothing of the perfect. The form we give is 
not the form distinguished by the eye, but the very 
being of the etSo? which the mind alone can grasp. We 
paint ‘ horsiness,' and not the horse ; ‘ chairiness,' and not 
the chair. We seek to perpetuate for the eye what we 
know to be perpetuated beneath the flux of perception. 
Against impressionism we react even more strongly 
perhaps than against more detailed reproduction. We 
believe less in the Frenchmen of the seventies, less in 
Whistler, than in the great masters of the Netherlands, 
ior, after all, impressionism is the unquestioning worship 


124 A CITY IN THE FOREGROUND 

of sense data, lifting to a plane of value, to which they 
have no claim, phenomena which are, after all, a prey 
to every change of light and shadow, mere figments of 
the eye that sees and the ear that hears. Until you 
speak to us in our own language your gibes will be 
meaningless. As I said before, I don’t mind your hating 
the movement, honest hate hurts no one; I would go 
further, and say that without hate few men have done 
anything worth remembering. There is a tag that says : 
‘It’s love that makes the world go round.’ but that is 
only half the truth. The world lives by love and hate, 
there can be no true love without hate, and hate without 
love is sterile, mere negation. Hate a thing because you 
love something else, and you are on the way to find 
salvation, love all things and hate none, and you have 
more than one foot in the grave already. All I ask of 
you is not to hate without love, because if you do you 
are living in the house of death. . . . 

“ . . . Artistically, every age has got to find its own 
idiom, that is the one and only rule of all art. I must 
be getting wearisome to you because all I have to say 
is the same, all my points are one point, my creed has 
but one fundamental dogma, live in your own age, live 
in your own generation, see with the eyes of your own 
youth. That does not mean, I repeat it again, that you 
need scorn the ideals of other ages and other genera- 
tions, but it does mean that you will make of your own 
little link in the chain of civilisation something as strong 
and tempered as those that have gone before. Don’t 
lose yourselves in praise of the things that have been, 
but get drunk on the glory of the things that are, and 
the things that will be. Only thus will you make your- 
selves worthy of the tradition which in weaker ways 


A CITY IN THE FOREGROUND 125 

you profess to idolise. I ask you, once more, before 
you attack these painters, ay, and these poets and 
writers, try honestly to see and hear them with the eyes 
and ears of to-day. Live in your own generation. 
Remember, these are the young men, the men young 
in spirit, and when they are in their turn old, they 
will be able to remember with undiminished joy that 
they have given the best of themselves to their genera- 
tion, that they have lived fully and wisely. . . . 

“ . . . Only by striking off the old fetters, by breath- 
ing into life and art a new spirit of adventure, can we 
make beauty a reality to the meiss of society. Men 
complain to-day that the artist in England is not under- 
stood, that he works for a minority, that the bulk of 
society moves on and takes no notice of his struggles, 
his ideals, his failures, and his achievements. That is 
true enough, but it is true because the artist of to-day — 
a to-day which we hope soon to make a yesterday in 
the life of art — speaks in a language that means nothing 
to mankind. What is art to the mass of the unlettered 
and unprivileged ? A strange word, a strange pleasure, 
the indulgence of the rich and the fortunate. Beyond 
that, it has become nothing more than a matter of choco- 
late boxes. Fear's Annual plates, sentimental illustra- 
tions to sixpenny magazines, and certain rooms full of 
atrocities at Burlington House. That is because life 
has fled from art, because in these days art has nothing 
in common with the thoughts and emotions of our daily 
existence. Still I do not despair. I see a day coming 
when the love and understanding of art will permeate 
all classes, when the standard of criticism and apprecia- 
tion will be so high that bad work will not be tolerated. \ ^ v 
Then, and then only, will inspiration be reborn to lead j\ 


126 A CITY IN THE FOREGROUND 

men to realisation. Then and then only will art be a 
power for the betterment of society. The genius for 
whom we have waited so long will arrive, and work 
will again be done which shall be worthy of the great 
traditions. On that background of a trained and appre- 
ciative community, great figures will move and men will 
find salvation in the presence of truth. Art after all is 
nothing but expression and control, the conscious mould- 
ing of thought, and emotion purged of the false values 
of an outworn convention. . . . 

“. . . Don’t let us compromise with the ages, but let 
us live our own lives, not as we find them, but as we 
make them. Thus only can we be sure that the great 
spirits of the world, which are always young, will smile 
on us and welcome us as fellows worthy of the great 
company. . . .” 

* * * « » 

Conversation was once again general. 

“ . . . Dear old John’s quite mad, he’s hypnotised him- 
self with these things. . . .” 

*‘. . . My dea/y I don’t begin to understand him. 
I shall have to buy one of those terrible pictures and 
look at it for half an hour every day. Mon Dieu! mais 
quelle dUadence! . . .” 

“. . . Quite like Savonarola. I suppose we ought to 
rush round purging the college of its Watts, Burne- 
Jones, Turners, and Landseers : we might have a bon- 
fire in the quad. . . .” 

'*. . . Almost thou persuadest me to become a Post- 
Impressionist.” 

“ . . . . This orgy of metaphysics is really a little 
trying for the modern historian, you should con- 


A CITY IN THE FOREGROUND 127 

cede a little to the lesser intelligences of the 
college, John ” 

Colquhoun had bustled into the room in the middle 
of Delmeage’s paper. 

“ Rather like a music hall star taking a suburban hall 
between two west-end performances,” Harold had 
whispered to Hugh. 

“ . . . How about a little cold punch to refresh our 
weary minds ?” 

The punch was duly brought and distributed, and the 
Congreve settled once more to business. 

Hugh moved nervously to the mantelpiece. He had 
been asked some days ago to lead the opposition, and 
in a weak moment — he always found it difficult to refuse 
requests of this kind, partly from vanity, partly from 
good nature — he had accepted. He was perfectly honest 
in the position he was about to take up. He did funda- 
mentally disagree with John, and he was capable, on 
paper, of producing a more than adequate rejoinder. 
Now, however, he felt the sword bending in his hand, 
the certainty stammering upon his tongue. That paean 
of youth with which John had ended ? Of course it was 
rhetorical, perhaps it was a little cheap, but it seemed 
suddenly to mean a hell of a lot to Hugh. Wasn’t he 
always being pursued by the phantom of an ideal to 
which, he felt he would never, could never, completely 
attain ? Still, to attack it ! there was something horrible, 
fantastic, impious, in the thought. He saw suddenly 
in the close smoke-dimmed room, a vision splendid of 
a laughing boy, pleading, yet defiant. “ Don’t hurt 
me,” it seemed to say ; “ I know my faults, pass them 
by, forgotten for the sake of my sturdiness, my joy, and 
the wind in my hair” ; and then again: “You can’t 


128 A CITY IN THE FOREGROUND 

touch me, you can’t, you can’t, you can’t, because I am 
the lord of your soul, before me you crawl, you beg, 
you worship!” 

John’s words had, as it were, touched a spring and 
released all the semi-conscious world of thoughts and 
impulses that lay deep within himself. He saw now 
clearly enough that herein lay the truth of all his 
troubles and uncertainties. Youth was a magic key that 
unlocked magic doors. How could he defame it, cast 
it away ? 

With a violent effort he shook himself free from his 
brooding. He must say something, however futile. 

All of a sudden he realised that he was speaking, had 
been speaking for some minutes, all the while that his 
jumbled thoughts were somersaulting in his brain. 
Every sentence he spoke seemed to be answered and 
condemned by a voice, his own and yet not his own, and 
the illusion of dialogue was so strong that he caught 
himself wondering why the roomful of listeners did not 
notice it too. 

“ . . . I find it frightfully hard to answer the criti- 
cism of the last speaker — harder than I ever imagined 
it would be. He was so brilliant that it is difficult to 
insist upon the radical fallacies upon which his argu- 
ments are based. . . .” 

(“ Don’t be a damned hypocrite : if you can see the 
fallacy you can explain it. You know you’re just play- 
ing about with words. ... No, that’s not altogether 
true either, I can feel the fallacy, but I’m not clever 
enough to trace it.”) 

“ . . . development, evolution, call it what you like : 
you can’t in life or art afford to break with the past. 
Mr. Delmeage made one very illuminating remark. . . .” 


A CITY IN THE FOREGROUND 129 

(“ You’re talking like a halfpenny ‘ leader * : look at 
Theodor chuckling.”) 

"... He said that we are all children of our history 
and our environment, mental and emotional as well as 
physical, that the dead rule us because we see with their 
eyes, think with their brains, speak with their lips. That 
is so true that I want to insist upon it in my condemna- 
tion of his general argument. . . .” 

(" It’s so true that you know it’s what you’ve been 
thinking for years : but you’re trying to get round it.”) 

". . . We must use the accumulation of dead experi- 
ence as the foundations for our building. Whatever its 
design, we’ve got to establish it on the sure achievement 
of the past. . . .” 

(" You’re missing the point and talking platitudes.”) 

"... Look at the revolutionary movements of the 
past. Think of the Pre-Raphaelites, the Impressionists. 
If you had brought the great masters to life and shown 
them the work of Rossetti, of Burne-Jones, of Whistler, 
of Turner, they would have recognised at least the 
language, though they mightn’t be able to talk it. But 
offer them your moderns and they would hear only 
gibberish. . . .” 

(“ That’s sound enough as a debating argument : but 
its derived, it’s not your own, and you’re not certain that 
it’s true.”) 

"... All this talk of abstract painting is nonsense. 
You can’t paint ‘ horsiness ’ without painting a horse, 
nor the ‘ idea ’ of a table without presenting it through 
the medium of a representation of the particular. To 
say you can is simply bad metaphysics, besides being 
unintelligible art. The modern tendency is too much 
towards the writing of manifestoes in half digested 

9 


130 A CITY IN THE FOREGROUND 

philosophical jargon, too little towards the creation of 
things that will stand alone without argument . . 

(“ Thats right, go on like that, youTe on the straight 
road now.”) 

. Graphic art is visual and must deal with a 
visual world. No man can paint theories. Mr. Del- 
meage would persuade you that his moderns are tilting 
against conventions. Convention, I would remind you, 
is nothing but standardised truth : the platitude is 
usually a frozen epigram. To sweep away old conven- 
tions you must go beyond them and make new ones. 
My quarrel with the modern iconoclast is that he tries 
to destroy them without absorbing them. He tries to 
ignore what he cannot out-distance. I have heard Mr. 
Delmeage declaim on many occasions against the 
literary quality in painting, yet he seems to forget that 
the metaphysical quality is equally objectionable. 

. . To me there is more ‘horsiness* in one of 
Diirer’s German stallions, more of the spring in Botti- 
celli’s ‘Prima Vera,* more essential character in a portrait 
by Rembrandt or Velasquez, more life in a head by 
Raeburn, than in all the pseudo-metaphysical arrange- 
ments of unrelated patterns of your ‘ cubists * or the 
daubed brutalities of your Gauguin, Matisse, or 
Augustus John. . . .** 

(“ You’re going wrong again. He doesn’t deny the 
life of the old, but he demands similar life for the new, 
which imitation, however good, cannot give. You’re 
making your points by building up a sham antagonist 
and then knocking him down.”) 

“ . . . How can anybody hope seriously to find certain 
salvation in the archaic? Surely it is just as absurd 
as the laughable ill taste of our grandfathers in erecting 


A CITY IN THE FOREGROUND 13 1 

sham ruins to close the vistas of their landscape gardens. 
To my mind, there is little difference of absurdity 
between the age that found pleasure in the atrocities 
built by ‘ Mr. Milestone * for * Lord Littlebrain * and that 
to which the efforts of a hyper-civilised coterie to ape 
the psychology of an age already dead six centuries 
can give an even partial satisfaction. . . . ’ 

(“All very well as rhetoric, but is there very much in 
it ? Aren’t you still ignoring the real point ?”) 

“. . . I’m quite ready to admit that possibly the 
technical heritage of the past may sometimes be a handi- 
cap rather than a help, in the same way that the posses- 
sion of a competency may ruin a weak man’s power for 
work. . . .” (“ Good.”) “ . . . But I do insist that it is 
idle to complain of our conditions, and worse than idle 
to try and ignore what is now part and parcel of our 
visual and aesthetic lives. No man can now be primitive, 
nor is it desirable that he should be. None of the 
masters of the Post-Raphael period attempted to go 
back behind conditions which they knew to be unalter- 
able. Possibly you will challenge me with El Greco; 
my reply is that, whatever the texture of his mind, it 
is undeniable that his actual eyesight was abnormal, 
and though I realise that it is nowadays unpopular to 
attribute to physical causes results that can be twisted 
into symptoms of psychological or metaphysical origin- 
ality, I still hold to the necessity of recognising the part 
played by the bodily organism of sensation. . . . 

“ . . . To sum up : My great objection to Mr. Del- 
meage’s idols is that they produce no definite effect upon 
the spectator. With all their weight of argument they 
express nothing whatever in their work. Perhaps I 
should qualify that, and say that they have no effect 


132 A CITY IN THE FOREGROUND 

on the mind unprepared by torrents of verbiage for the 
reception of their doctrine. After hypnotising himself 
with pages of hysterical manifesto the wretched spec- 
tator may, through utter weariness, work himself into 
a condition in which he believes that he can see new 
beauty and new truth. The point, however, is that by 
no purely visual appeal does this new school achieve 
its aims, and in so far as these painters fail in their fun- 
damental test, they fail to give life and development to 
art. In short, they are shown to be, what I believe they 
are, a step towards reaction, rather than a stage in 
evolution. That is my official criticism of Mr. 
Delmeage’s paper, but I must admit that his eloquence 
has won me. His claims for his generation are to me 
overpoweringly attractive, and I am ready, against the 
dictates of my reason, to compound with fallacy for the 
exuberance of youth. . . . 

“. . . I believe that what I have said is true, but 
Mr. Delmeage has so unsettled me that I almost think 
I shall become a convert. In theory I believe in the 
present and the future with as much passion as he does, 
perhaps with more. It is when I am confronted with the 
'productions of the moderns that my loyalty fails. I do 
most earnestly ask you to believe that in my desire for 
the triumph of youth I give Mr. Delmeage unstinted 
support. I’ve atacked him as in duty bound — but — 
well, my dear John, I shall vote for your motion.” 

% % * % % 

“ ... As a student of the prosaic facts of history, 

one inspired by the undistinguished ambitions of pro- 
curing an adequate degree in the final examination of 
this University, I am scarcely qualified to criticise 


A CITY IN THE FOREGROUND 133 

Mr. Delmeage's fervent exposition of the tenets of tran- 
scendental mysticism. . . 

Colquhoun was speaking in his most elaborate manner 
and with his slowest drawl. 

“ . . . I can hardly, however, let the opportunity pass 
without uttering a solemn word of warning. I have 
listened with some surprise to an inspired prophecy of 
a future in which a cultivated proletariat shall pass in 
review the achievements of its artists, and by dint of 
employing fearlessly a critical faculty, given presumably 
by heaven, and trained by the New English Art Club, 
shall attain to a standard of aesthetic and intellectual 
brilliance hitherto undreamed of. In this atmosphere 
of beauty, where pure form — that, I believe, is the proper 
expression — shall be come by as easily as a pint of beer, 
genius is to flourish as the flower of the field, mediocrity 
is to be unknown, and, if I have understood the speaker 
rightly, a millennium of social and artistic perfection is 
to dawn upon rapt humanity. It is not, I repeat, for 
me to criticise so fair a forecast, but with your permis- 
sion, Mr. President, I should like to hazard one sugges- 
tion. The artist in all ages, and the children of Israel 
in one particular age, would have been sadly lost with- 
out the Philistines. GoldePs Green and Bloomsbury, 
believe me, can barely live without South Kensington. 
To me it seems that the Cromwell Road is a necessary 
background to any artistic renaissance. When Mr. 
Epstein is commissioned to design a new Albert 
Memorial and Mr. Roger Fry is invited to exhibit at 
the Royal Academy, the future of artistic activity in 
this country will be sadly compromised. Nothing is so 
deadening to genius as a general high level of culture. 
Shakespeare was the outcome of an age that infinitely 


134 A CITY IN THE FOREGROUND 

preferred bear - baiting to ‘ Hamlet ' : Cleon not 
Pericles was the type of Athenian who made possible 
Euripides, Sophocles, and Pheidias. . . ” 

“Why the devil can’t I do this sort of thing?” 
thought Hugh. “This is just the right way of approach- 
ing the ‘Conger.’ Theodor doesn’t begin to under- 
stand John, but he knows his audience. He seizes on 
one perfectly unimportant point, and makes it an ex- 
cuse for letting off fireworks. Either you’ve got to 
believe properly that John is wrong and counter his 
enthusiasm with something as deeply felt, and as well 
expressed — which I didn’t do — or you’ve got to produce 
the Oxford manner, like Theodor, which I can’t do. I 
always fall between two stools.” 

“. . . Few things are so fatal to the prophet or teacher 
as success. It is precisely in so far as a prophet is with- 
out honour in his own country that he goes down to 
posterity as a prophet. Imagine for a moment the 
despair of the great reformers of history if the world 
had allowed itself to be reformed without a struggle! 
Where would they have found inspiration for the future ? 
In what ground would the seeds of revolution have come 
to fruit? Has an artistic colony ever produced an 
artist? . . 

Here Colquhoun changed his tone from one of play- 
ful paradox to that of rhetorical earnestness, a trick 
which never failed him before a big audience, though 
in an intimate meeting like the Congreve it lost a certain 
amount of its effect. 

In the society which has been sketched for you, 
a society which the modern spirit shall pervade un- 
questioned and unhindered, your great men will be 
nothing but eccentrics, your art nothing but a pose. 


A CITY IN THE FOREGROUND 135 

The general standard of appreciation will not, in reality, 
be raised, it will become merely capricious, seeking to 
find not the true but the new in all things. Art will 
be encouraged to violent and rapid changes, intellect 
will be urged to provide nothing but a stimulus for 
jaded dilettanti. . . .” 

The speaker, gauging carefully the moods of his 
audience, and timing to a nicety the changes which he 
rang, here dropped from his peroration into his former 
mood of playful cynicism. 

“ . . . Believe me, the artistic reformer must be double- 
faced. Mr. Delmeage may advertise the merits of his 
friends, but if he follows the advice of one who knows 
the world, he will not abandon entirely the cause of his 
enemies. Let him, if he likes, cry from the housetops the 
fame of Messieurs Picasso and Matisse, let him uphold 
the excellence of Mr. Galsworthy and Mr. Masefield — I 
speak from the mists of my youth, there may be yet 
newer luminaries, but let that pass, for their names may 
stand as symbols — but at the same time he should never 
forget to thank God, evolution, or whatever force he 
worships, day and night on his bended knee for Mr. 
George Edwards, the Strand Magazine^ Mr. E. F. 
Benson, and Sir Laurence Alma Tadema. . . .” 


CHAPTER VIII 


It was typical of the Congreve that, its membership 
being based on a catholic franchise, narrowness of 
interests was not among its faults. No matter what the 
ostensible subject of any of its debates might be, the 
discussion invariably became general, and towards the 
end of the evening the original question had been lost 
beneath an accumulation of polemics, the connection 
of which with the main question at issue was usually 
of the slenderest kind. On this particular occasion, 
Colquhoun was followed by a host of minor orators, each 
of whom prefaced his remarks by saying that he had 
very little to add, though he would like to accentuate 
a point which had been but lightly touched upon, and 
each one of whom was found, when actually put to the 
test, to have even less to add than he had himself 
supposed. By such gentle meanderings did the main 
stream drift into the backwater of debate, when 
numerous small boats were gallantly launched, only to 
suffer rapid shipwreck in the shallows. 

The enthusiasm of the adventurous navigators was 
cooling rapidly, and conversation was tending more and 
more to take the place of debate, when Bernard 
Malleson, judging perhaps that the original purpose of 
the meeting had been sufficiently forgotten for his 
purpose, sauntered across the room with the obvious 
intention of speaking. 


136 


A CITY IN THE FOREGROUND 137 

The chief, and perhaps the only merit of the Oxford 
manner at its best, is that it amuses, provokes and 
decorates. It may have no greater depth than a stream, 
but it is a stream that occasionally “ maketh music with 
the enamelled stones,” rushing over its miniature water- 
falls with noise and many rainbow colours. In Malle- 
son, however, it seemed to have its sources among the 
glaciers. The sparkle was there, but the colour was 
gone : the course was still rapid and tortuous, but the 
current seemed more instinct with purpose, with no 
time to spare for making music, and cold as ice to the 
touch. 

In manner and mannerism Malleson was indubitably 
a child of his University, and he cultivated the externals 
solely as instruments of offence. He seemed to be an 
utter stranger to all human emotions and interest, 
driven by his brain much as another man may be driven 
by his vices and his appetites. He was astoundingly 
clever, with an analytic brilliance that was numbing in 
its uncompromising logic, its cold hostility to all dis- 
play of sentiment, its cynical disregard for all that was 
not susceptible of demonstrated proof. In argument he 
was terrifying, with an unerring eye for every weak 
point in a case, blind utterly to every quality of a 
thought that was not justified by its intellectual ex- 
pression. Of emotional literature he was bitterly in- 
tolerant, and though he fancied his own powers as a 
poet, he substituted for passionate feeling a severely 
over-intellectualised insistence upon the more brutal 
animal instincts, which, as free from all suspicion of 
sentiment, he considered provided a just permissible 
playground for his depressing but enlightened muse. 

At the Bar he would have made a great career, but 


138 A CITY IN THE FOREGROUND 

some whim had induced him to devote his attention 
exclusively to politics and sociology, not so much with 
the desire of attaining truth and effecting reform, as of 
consolidating for himself a position of influence in con- 
temporary affairs. His time at Oxford was occupied 
chiefly in organising campaigns among the most ex- 
treme adherents of the labour movement, popularising 
by articles, pamphlets and lectures the political views 
of the most obscure and revolutionary description, and 
in doing all that he safely could to increase discontent, 
spread illusory doctrines, and assure his own immediate 
future, whatever form of society might supplant the 
existing system. What prompted him to take the line 
he did, no one had ever been able to discover. He made 
no effort to disguise the contempt and dislike with which 
he regarded those whom it was his avowed intention 
to raise to the supreme position in the State. Most 
certainly he would have denied, with many oaths, the 
accusation of sharing the humanistic and sentimental 
views of the ** Intelligentsia ” with the members of which 
he was forced, in his political activities, too often to 
associate himself. At the same time there was some- 
thing about him which made it impossible to think of 
him, as it was impossible not to think of Colquhoun, as 
simply trimming his sails to the prevailing breeze, or 
rather as cleverly forecasting the coming storm and en- 
suring the safety of his own vessel. 

To Hugh he was curiously repellant. The two men 
had nothing in common except their mutual antagonism. 
Malleson had every characteristic which the other lacked, 
many which he loathed, and the ability to turn him 
intellectually round his little finger. Hugh felt instinc- 
tively that Malleson despised him, and the knowledge. 


A CITY IN THE FOREGROUND 139 

instead of nerving him to fight, caused him merely to 
draw still further into his shell. At the same time, with 
that inborn fairness of mind, which he cursed so con- 
stantly as his greatest weakness, he could not consent 
to condemn utterly a man of whom he knew so little. 
He was in fact far kinder, and as he believed, juster 
in his estimate of Malleson’s character and ambitions 
than many who were qualified by greater intimacy to 
pass a verdict. He believed that the over-intellectual- 
ised outlook, for which chiefly he disliked the man, was 
the secret that explained everything. Malleson loved 
power to a degree only possible to those as utterly 
detached from human feelings and interests as he was. 
His social and political activities were the expression 
of a mind that found in the great field of industrial 
discontent not primarily an opportunity for ameliorat- 
ing and humanising conditions, not perhaps at all an 
opportunity for personal enrichment in the ordinary sense, 
but a material on which to exercise the power of model- 
ling, altering and controlling, which is the ruling passion 
of such natures. The actual problems, the quality of 
human nature with which the problems dealt, had be- 
come for him abstracted almost entirely from the com- 
plex of reality. He moved in a world of symbols and 
signs, which were mathematical in their adaptability 
as in their inhumanity. “ Of such stuff,” thought Hugh, 
“ have many revolutionaries been made in the past, and 
of such stuff will they be made in the future. They are 
the fundamental irony of all the great radical move- 
ments. Brains like Malleson’s find their life’s interest 
in criticism and destruction. They tear down the 
barriers which restrain the brute instincts which they 
pretend to despise, only to see when it is too late that 


140 A CITY IN THE FOREGROUND 

the very powers they have released turn inevitably to 
the destruction of the liberator.” He smiled to himself 
at the thought of Stevenson’s warning against relaxing 
the bonds that held in check man, who is, “after all, 
but a devil lightly fettered by a few generous beliefs and 
impositions,” and the contempt with which Malleson 
would receive t-.e quotation. It was, however, seldom 
that he smiled when he thought of Malleson, and even 
now he felt a shudder of dislike as of some reptile when 
he looked at the cold-blooded sociologist, so able to 
destroy the wisdom of the humanist, so utterly incap- 
able of understanding it. Malleson might well become 
the Robespierre of the English Revolution, and like 
Robespierre he would meet death at the hands of the 
powers which he had raised. That, at any rate, was a 
consolation. And yet behind the uncanny horror there 
was something really laughable in the reflection that the 
man who so repudiated sentiment was making it his 
life’s work to promulgate doctrines that owed their birth 
originally to Rousseau, the arch-sentimentalist, and to 
the charmingly artificial abstractions of life and society 
out of which the intellectuals of Europe during the 
nineteenth century had formed their gospel. 

Malleson’s head was bony, his forehead high, and his 
voice as cold and definite as the drip of melting ice. 
As he spoke a chill seemed to grip the room. He too 
had little to add, in fact he might say that his remarks 
were no addition, but they sprang from what had been 
said by more than one speaker, and therefore they might 
be considered as strictly in order. 

“ . . . Mr. Delmeage sang the praises of this genera- 
tion, and appealed to the young to support the young. 
Mr. Kenyon, with a strange predilection for the old, has 


A CITY IN THE FOREGROUND 141 

asked you to dam the stream of development, and at 
most to allow the smallest, most discreet trickle to escape 
into the stagnant pool which appears to be the ideal for 
which he fights — at least that I gather is his official 
contribution to the subject, though he seems so uncer- 
tain of his own meaning that others must be excused if 
they mistake his intention. . . . 

. Mr. Kenyon gave voice to a sentiment, the 
logical bearing of which seems to have escaped him. 
He described conventions as stereotyped, or was it frozen 
originality? — he will, I hope, forgive my mutilation of 
his eloquence. I entirely agree with him. The exist- 
ing conditions of social, political and artistic life are 
dying. I would, however, suggest that the logical con- 
clusion is that indicated by Mr. Delmeage rather than 
that apparently desired, though scarcely indicated, by 
Mr. Kenyon. . . . 

“. . . The world as we have known it will not long 
continue unchanged. There are those in England who 
will not long tolerate the icy grip of frozen tradition, 
nor will they permit any effort to compromise with that 
tradition. The revolution will not be a species of 
general election, it will be a fight with the gloves off, 
and Tve no doubt that Mr. Kenyon will be pained to 
hear that we do not intend to observe the rules of any 
game when we show our strength. We of the new 
England will not be content with concessions. We are 
out to fight for victory, and we are going to justify the 
youth of the world against the outworn traditions of 
age. We shall want no lukewarm supporters, we have 
little room for moderates, and it will be well for Mr. 
Kenyon to realise that the originality we intend will not 
be that which is congealed into convention, nor will our 


142 A CITY IN THE FOREGROUND 

‘epigrams* be recognisable as the platitudes he so 
studiously defends. . . . 

“ I am not fighting for art or artistic forms, but 
I cannot resist lending my voice in support of move- 
ments which seem so much in tune with the tendencies 
I represent. I do not wish to enter into technical dis- 
cussions with Mr. Delmeage, but I do join with him in 
welcoming youth when it struggles to break the imposi- 
tions of age. I see a hopeful future in the work of 
modern artists, not because it is beautiful, we do not 
want the beautiful, which is nothing but the emasculate 
reaction of a degenerate and traditionally educated 
caste, but we do want vigour and modernity, and that 
is what I find in the spirit of Mr. Delmeage*s plea. 
Mr. Kenyon warns you of anarchy, I stand for anarchy, 
and I proudly proclaim it, if by that means I can help 
to assert the spirit of the new world. Nothing is so 
contemptible as compromise with the dead through fear 
of the living. Mr. Kenyon seems to believe in the 
Arnold tradition, and to glory in the Arnold view of 
Oxford, and its function as a defender of the indefen- 
sible. I ask you, in the name of all the supernatural 
powers, in which he and that depressing pedant seem 
to believe, to crush for ever the power of outworn creeds, 
and to be the makers of your own future and your own 
gods.” 

The icy voice stopped, and Malleson, as though he 
had delivered an ultimatum, strode to the door without 
another word. With his departure the room seemed to 
throw off a burden of depression, and dissolved once 
more into conversation. By tacit understanding the 
business of the evening was considered finished, and not 
much interest was taken in the purely mechanical 


A CITY IN THE FOREGROUND 143 

formality of taking the vote of the Society. Harold was 
asleep, Colquhoun had already slipped away, John was 
puffing stolidly at his pipe, despite the shrill renewed 
pleadings of his host. 

“ Oswald, my dear, carit you persuade him ? / can^t . . . 
Hugh, do take that horrid thing away from him . . . 
mais^ dest etouffant! I have to sleep in it, and Fm such 
a poor sleeper, just an hour or two in the early morning 
. . . Mon Dieu! I simply shan’t close an eye. . . .” 

Hugh, leaning out of the window, dimly conscious 
of a tinkling piano from the other side of the quad, took 
out his own pipe and started to fill it, deaf to the wails 
of the elegant Charles. Most of the members of the 
Congreve had gone, and all, with the exception of John 
and Malleson, had probably forgotten already what had 
been said that evening. Only in his own mind was the 
question turning and twisting still, for to him it was more 
than any subject of debate, it was the problem of life, of 
belief. He wished with all his soul that he could lose 
himself in the stillness of the night. He saw the beauty 
of it, the white moon- washed buildings that seemed in 
the quietness almost like figments of his brain that 
would melt into nothing when he closed his eyes, the 
sprinkled lights, the spilled richness of the milky way, 
and yet he could find no comfort in it all. His thoughts 
would not sleep, his brain seethed. 


CHAPTER IX 


For some years in the neighbourhood of the “ eighties ” 
Knox had been famous for its rowing. The eight 
dropped rarely below the third place on the river, and 
had actually remained “ head ” for a longer time than 
any of its competitors. The exaggerated number of 
Knox men in the * Varsity crews of the period became 
proverbial, and there seemed no reason why the college 
should not remain unequalled in the sphere of athletics 
as well as in that of intellect. Optimism, seemingly 
well-founded, was, however, in this respect, disappointed. 
The college continued to produce judges, administrators, 
Indian civilians, members of Parliament, men of letters, 
and dilettanti, with unfailing regularity. By the end 
of last century, indeed, Knox was regarded by many 
almost as a national institution, and a man who could 
say that his name was on its books was admitted with- 
out further enquiry into the most exclusive circles of the 
cultured society of his time. Such a position of easy 
magnificence could not, of course, go unchallenged, and 
from time to time revolutionary movements were organ- 
ised by the intellectually dispossessed, and the in- 
fallibility of the college was more than once questioned. 
Like the Church of Rome, however, it could afford to 
ignore such detractors, and up to the outbreak of the 
Great War in 1914 Knox still shared with Balliol the 
throne of British, and (in the eyes of its members) of 
European, intellect and culture. Balliol, in fact, was 
144 


A CITY IN THE FOREGROUND 145 

alone considered worthy of being regarded as an equal, 
and the University had become accustomed to view, as 
something holy, the rivalry between them. Enemies 
as they were on their own ground, the two colleges held 
it nevertheless a point of honour to join hands against 
outside criticism, and to present to the world at large 
a face of undivided defiance. 

In sport, however, Knox found it impossible to main- 
tain inviolate the old position of eminence which had 
been its pride. Much to the chagrin of old members of 
the college, the leadership of the river was lost in *98, 
and there followed a long period of athletic eclipse. 
Fashions changed. Promising oars from Eton and 
Winchester elected to go to Magdalen, “The House,” or 
New College, instead of to Knox, and in 1905 the 
college tasted the dregs of the cup of humiliation when 
its boat dropped to the place of sixth on the river. F ate 
seemed determined to abase the pride of Knox, and, 
despite the efforts that were made to revive the ancient 
glory, it seemed impossible to produce again a crew 
capable of competing for the headship. In 1906, for the 
first time within living memory, the college sent no boat 
to Henley, and though this supreme admission of defeat 
was never repeated, the memory of that black year lay 
like a blot upon the bright pages of the Knox annals. 
Individual oarsmen of promise, it is true, still appeared 
from time to time, and found their way into the * Varsity 
crews, but even the presence of “ blues ” in the college 
failed to raise the standard of Knox rowing sufficiently 
high to regain the proud position of former years. 

Signs and portents, however, were not wanting that 
the tide was beginning to turn. Old Knox men, who 
remembere4 the great days of college rowing, men who 

10 


146 A CITY IN THE FOREGROUND 

themselves had won blues” in the ’eighties, who had 
found a place (an honour they valued still more highly) 
in the triumphant Knox crews of that time, began to 
hope once again. Every Saturday brought train loads 
of barristers and business men to Oxford to watch the 
training of the college boats, and for weeks the conversa- 
tion of a certain section of “ High Table” sounded like 
spoken extracts from the sporting columns of the daily 
papers. At last, in 1913, hope was rewarded. Knox 
went head of the river in “ Toggers,” and on the last 
night of Eights week the second college boat con- 
tinued to lead its division home with a comfortable 
margin of safety to spare. Enthusiasm knew no 
bounds. A double bump supper was at once pro- 
posed and sanctioned, since the victory of the Easter 
term had as yet received no fitting recognition. Even 
the old President had been roused from his lifelong 
study of Roman Provincial administration, and had 
appeared, muffled to the throat in shawls, upon the 
college barge, where, in the intervals of mistaking his 
own freshmen for eminent K.C.’s, he had watched and 
applauded the finals of the summer racing. 

Bump suppers have a way of uniting a college as 
nothing else can do. Even the intellectually arrogant 
forget for the time being their scorn of bodily exercise, 
and mingle graciously, if a little condescendingly, with 
the "groundlings.” The lure of free champagne (this 
was in the days before the war), the promise of rowdyism 
unchecked (within limits) by the hand of authority, 
prove, as a rule, irresistible. The speeches, although 
they betray as a rule the simplicity of patriotism and an 
absence of subtlety, are greeted with ungrudging 
applause by those who, in their quieter moments, would 


A CITY IN THE FOREGROUND 14; 

shudder at the idea of supporting such uninspired 
banality. Even the most cultivated of communities 
becomes, for an evening, uncritical and human. Some 
there are, of course, who maintain an attitude of aloof- 
ness. Colquhoun refused definitely to have anything 
to do with the festivities. “ The sight,” he said, “ of 
several hundred young men in an advanced state of 
intoxication gives me no pleasure.” His decision was 
probably dictated largely by the feeling that his own 
importance would be scarcely recognised at a feast held 
purely in honour of the body, and certainly no one sur- 
passed him in the ability to gauge the character of any 
assembly of which he was to be a member. He realised 
fearlessly that the rude arbitrament of force might, in 
the ecstasy of alcoholic fervour, refuse to yield to the 
pointed, if less material, weapons of sarcasm and epi- 
gram. He was probably wise in his determination to 
keep clear of the college. French, by now his declared 
disciple and a candidate for political honours, was 
sorely tempted to follow his example, but curiosity found 
him still sufficiently human to yield to his desire of 
witnessing so stupendous an orgy. John Delmeage 
pleaded work as an excuse, for though at other times he 
would have taken an unaffected pleasure in the evening, 
the terror of schools loomed too close to be disregarded. 
The prospect of a night wasted, and a morrow possibly 
embittered by headache, is too serious a thing to be over- 
looked in the middle of one’s last term. Malleson, of 
course, refused to have anything to do with so gross 
an exhibition of class tyranny. 

The triumph of the Knox second boat was considered 
sufficiently certain to warrant orders being given for the 
preparation of the supper before the last race was rowed. 


148 A CITY IN THE FOREGROUND 

It was to be held the same evening, and the whole day 
was spent by the devoted staff of servants in preparing 
for the occasion. Hall was closed to all ordinary traffic 
at midday, and throughout the long afternoon a train 
of waggons stood before the main gate of the college, 
discharging endless cases of wine, numerous crates of 
crockery (the contents of which was fated to be, for the 
most part, broken), and mountains of Windsor chairs. 

The Committee had been formed, diplomatically, of 
representative members from all sections of the college. 
There had been high words about the inclusion of 
Ritchie and Everett, both earnest Christians and de- 
voted workers at the Knox Mission in Cowley, but their 
claims as athletic celebrities (Ritchie was captain of 
Knox football, and Everett had got his half-blue for 
hockey) could hardly be overlooked, and Camel,” to 
whom they were both opposed on principle, being re- 
publicans of a Puritanical complexion, had characteris- 
tically insisted upon their election. Geoffrey was, of 
course, well to the fore. He had led the opposition to 
Ritchie and Everett, both of whom he hated, but had 
been talked over by “Camel” to treat them with at 
least ordinary civility. As a matter of fact, the functions 
of the Committee were purely nominal, as the actual 
arrangements were left for the most part to young Lord 
Blockley, whose knowledge of wine was exceptional. 
Geoffrey made it his especial duty to keep him up to 
the mark in this particular function of providing cham- 
pagne, though he found himself energetically flogging 
a willing horse. “ Remember, we want masses of fizz,” 
he said, “ there’s two crews coming out of training, and 
then this is the first ‘bumper’ we’ve had for ten years, 
so it’s got to be a dam’ fine show.” To Hugh he 


A CITY IN THE FOREGROUND 149 

confided later in the afternoon : “ If everybody isn’t as 
tight as an owl, it won’t be my fault !” 

By a quarter to seven the whole college, with but few 
exceptions, was collected outside Hall. An air of almost 
naif excitement hung over the assembly. No attempt 
had been made to dress for the occasion, but hair had 
been rather more carefully brushed than usual, and clean 
collars were almost de riguer. The members of the 
Committee were distinguished by rosettes of the college 
colours. 

“It reminds me of a school prize-giving,” murmured 
Harold to Cyril Harborough, “both functions seem to 
promote a strange cleanliness about the face.” And, 
indeed, the crowd of world-weary young men did have 
about it something of the air of excited schoolboys. 

The few minutes before the bell rang for dinner were 
occupied by most people in collecting their friends round 
them, and in hurried arrangements to sit together at 
such and such tables. The patriotic feeling induced by 
the thanksgiving for common triumphs was not suffici- 
ently strong to destroy altogether the cliques that 
existed in the college, and the pleasure of many would 
have been spoilt utterly if they had been compelled by 
cunning or misfortune to eat and drink with uncongenial 
neighbours. Geoffrey was foremost among those who 
sought to 4 separate the sheep from the goats. As a 
member of the Committee he ought by rights to have 
taken his place at the High Table, but in order to be 
seated with his friends he had arranged with “Camel” 
to sacrifice the honour that was his due, and to choose, 
instead, his own associates. 

“ Come along,” he said, catching Hugh by the arm, 
“I’ve got Cyril and Freddy and one or two others 


150 A CITY IN THE FOREGROUND 

together; let’s get away from this mob, I don’t want to 
be mixed up with a lot of damned colonials.” 

Hugh, who was rather at a loose end, followed 
meekly, but be managed, unseen by Geoffrey, to smuggle 
Harold with him. 

At seven o’clock the bell started to ring, and the whole 
assembly surged slowly into Hall, where “ scouts,” 
severely brushed and arrayed in every variety of evening 
dress, stood, regularly spaced, along the tables which a 
despairing Committee had striven to render convivial 
with vases of drooping maidenhair, and a lavish display 
of the college plate. 

It was not until he was seated that Geoffrey noticed 
Harold discreetly settled on Hugh’s further side. 

“What did you bring him along for?” he asked, 
rather too loudly for politeness. 

“Because he’s a friend of mine,” replied Hugh; “be- 
sides, it’s just as well to have someone near by who’ll 
keep comparatively sober.” 

Geoffrey made no further objection. He had made up 
his mind to enjoy himself thoroughly, and felt sufficiently 
good tempered to avoid unnecessary quarrels. 

“ All right, you old scoundrel,” he laughed, “ but I’ll 
jolly well see that you get enough to drink ? Here ! 
Richards,” to the waiter, who happened to be his own 
particular scout, “ what are you doing with that cham- 
pagne? That’s for us, it mustn’t go further down the 
table than Mr. Sanderson, I’d better mark it,” and seiz- 
ing the bottle he scratched with his fork a large “F” 
upon the gold foil. “Just you see that we get enough 
here,” he went on. “ Don’t you worry about the rest 
of the table, they’ll do all right.” 

It was a point of honour with Geoffrey Farmer to 
enter upon the serious task of getting drunk with the 


A CITY IN THE FOREGROUND 


51 


same uncompromising vigour which he brought to every- 
thing he did. He had once admitted to Hugh that he 
thoroughly disliked champagne as a drink, but as he 
thoroughly approved of its effects, he nobly overcame 
his abhorrence of it, and made it a habit to absorb the 
greatest possible quantity in the shortest possible time. 
On this particular occasion he announced in a loud voice 
that he intended to drink a “ no heeler ” to the health 
of each member of both crews, including the cox, a 
decision which was greeted with prolonged applause by 
his particular friends, who promised to keep the count 
as long as they were capable of speech. 

Harold meanwhile had been studying the menu with 
great care. I am deel)ly disappointed,” he said to 
Hugh, “ that an intellectual community such as this can 
produce nothing more original than a transcription into 
French of the daily bill of fare. There has, I admit, 
been a brave effort at disguise, but even the fumes of 
cheap champagne cannot deceive me as to mHange a 
VHerodoter 

“What a pity Charles isn’t here, I wish I’d thought 
of smuggling him in as a guest,” replied Hugh, “he 
might have given an exhibition of cookery in the gallery. 
Hello ! here come the dons.” 

The noisy shuffling and stamping of many feet 
announced, in strict accordance with tradition, the 
arrival of the President and his flock, and continued 
until the self-conscious assemblage on the dais had 
jostled, bumped, and apologised itself into some sort 
of formation at the High Table. 

“ Poor old President,” said Harold, “ surely no fish 
out of water ever looked so embarrassed : the dear old 
thing doesn’t a bit know what to do.” 

“ I feel I should like to tuck him up in bed with a hot 


152 A CITY IN THE FOREGROUND 

water bottle,” replied Hugh. “ Oh, do look ! he’s mak- 
ing agreeable conversation about the college plate, I 
know he is !” 

^‘This is a terrible business for a senior common 
room,” continued Harold, “ there’s no precedent for them 
to go by; no doubt the ideal aimed at is dignity un- 
bending before youthful enthusiasm; the scheme’s all 
right in the rough, but it wants working out in detail. 
Mason looks as though he couldn’t unbend without 
breaking his backbone, just look at him, and they’ve put 
him next to * Camel ’ too. My God ! how sick he 
must be !” 

“I must say ‘ Camel’s’ about the only one who seems 
at all comfortable.” 

“ I should love to hear Summers talking football with 
Ritchie, I’m certain he’s being hearty, from his smile. 
I expect he’s asking Ritchie how many * googlies ’ he 
kicked at Henley, or something equally illuminating.” 

“ The President’s speech should be delightful,” replied 
Hugh. “ I’m sure he doesn’t know which end of a boat 
you put in front ! Come along, Harold, you’re not 
drinking anything; we’ve got to be gay and devil-may- 
care, and it can’t be done under a bottle apiece.” 

Hugh, who had already made inroads upon the 
champagne, was beginning to feel the atmosphere of 
bump suppers invigorating. 

“ Good Lord ! what’s that ?” he added suddenly. 

“ That, my dear Hugh, is the local orchestra’s version 
of ‘The Gondoliers.’ Gilbert and Sullivan is an indis- 
pensable feature of every college ‘binge.’ If you find 
it difficult to recognise the music you may find a clue 
in the words, which I notice some of our young friends 
are supplying, though I can vouch neither for their 
accuracy, nor their tunefulness.” 


A CITY IN THE FOREGROUND 153 

Harborough was, in fact, attempting to encourage the 
band by singing to its accompaniment in a painfully 
raucous voice those parts of the Gilbertian lyrics which 
he remembered, irrespective of their relevance to the 
melody. He was insisting loudly that “ of that there 
can be no possible doubt, no possible doubt whatever,” 
much to the consternation of the cornet, who was 
attempting to give a solo rendering of “There lived a 
king in days of old.” Fortunately the singer^s atten- 
tion was attracted by the appearance of a fresh bottle, 
and he gave up the unequal battle, much to the relief of 
the surrounding tables. 

Geoffrey, who had by this time progressed as far as 
number four in the first “Togger,” was giving voice to 
a fervour of friendship for everybody in the room. 

“ Cheerio, Everett !” he shouted, raising his glass to 
the dour Scotch athlete sitting with the Committee at 
the far end of the High Table. “Don’t look so down 
in the mouth ; how’s the mission gettin’ on ? Dam’ fine 
thing the mission, and you’re dam’ fine chap ! — Where’s 
that mddy scout gone ! — oh, here you are, splendid 
fellow, Richards,” as a new bottle was put on the table 
by the grinning waiter — “ you don’ mind my sayin’ 
ruddy scout, do you, Richards ? Say you don’, 
Richards, you’re splendi’ fellow, have drink, ole man,” 
and he seized and started to wring with enthusiasm the 
embarrassed scout’s unoccupied hand. “Well rowed, 
three !” and he continued his self-imposed pilgrimage. 

By this time most of the diners were following his 
example, and the air resounded to the clamour of 
promiscuous toasts. Sanderson, in a burst of emotion, 
was proposing the health of every don whom he could 
recognise, and many who had no existence outside his 
imagination. His voice had a peculiarly bull-like 


154 A CITY IN THE FOREGROUND 

quality that rose easily above the confused hubbub, 
much to the discomfiture of his victims. 

“Goo’ ole President!” he roared, and the assembled 
revellers, delighted at his daring, took up the cry with 
a will. The eminent scholar thus singled out for 
applause smiled nervously, bowed his head courteously, 
and timidly sipped his glass in reply, while the room 
yelled its appreciation of their own wit and his acknow- 
ledgment. 

“ Camel,” yelled Geoffrey, not to be outdone, and 
added two glasses to his already long toast list. 

At this reminder of college politics, the guests showed 
some signs of breaking up into hostile camps. The cry 
was repeated loudly by parties at every table, and some 
feeble attempts were made to counter it with answering 
calls of “Mason!” “Shut up Farmer!” “Sit down.” 
Ritchie and Everett maintained a grim silence and re- 
fused to be drawn into anything resembling a squabble. 
Luckily, although feeling ran high on this particular 
question, the genial influence of unlimited wine pre- 
vented the occurrence of any unfortunate incident, and 
after a few awkward moments the stream of frivolity 
flowed on again unchecked. 

Hugh had by this time reached the enviable stage of 
intoxication when his brain seemed unusually clear and 
his wit abnormally scintillating. He was strictly con- 
scious of his own sobriety, and felt impelled, by speak- 
ing very slowly and very distinctly, to impress his 
neighbours with the fact of his self-control. At the 
same time he knew himself to be master of all mysteries, 
and proceeded to engage Harold in a philosophical 
disquisition on the unity of mind and matter. 

“ It’s — a — ’strord — ^;r/r^-ordinary thing,” he began. 


A CITY IN THE FOREGROUND 155 

“what — potenshality of life= — there is — in — ’nanimate — 
nature. D’you know, Harold — I feel — I understand all 
these chairs and tables betteFn I ever did before. You 
see what I mean — ole man — don’t you ? there’s some- 
thing in them, isn’t there? P’raps you don’t see it all 
qui’ same as I do.” 

Harold, who was still sober, strove to reassure him. 

“ Of course I do, I quite see what you mean.” 

“ You do see it, don’ you ?” continued Hugh; “ they’re 
so beautiful, aren’t they ? T hey don’ see it though ” — 
he waved his hand vaguely at the table in general. 
“ They’re all drunk — dam’ drunk — but we can see it, 
can’t we ?” 

“ Yes, we can see it all right, but I expect they can 
really^ you know ; oh, damn you, Hugh ! that bottle’s 
gone all over my trousers.” 

“I’m frigh’fully sorry, ole man, you do b’lieve I’m 
sorry, don’ you ? — I don’ b’lieve you b’lieve I’m sorry 
at all, what can I do to show you how sorry I am ?” 

“I think I’d go and have a breath of fresh air if I 
were you.” 

“ Think I will : mus’ get ’way from all these drunken 
fllows, shall come back in a moment.” 

A general procession to and from the quad had 
already begun as Hugh moved self-consciously towards 
the door. He walked very carefully and very slowly, 
with an extremely clear perception of the straightness of 
his course. Once outside, he sat down on the grass and 
looked contentedly at the night sky. A subdued 
murmur came from the hall. All around the trees were 
still with the heaviness of summer. As he sat there he 
felt remarkably happy and serenely conscious of him- 
self. He was now quite aware of his condition ; in fact. 


156 A CITY IN THE FOREGROUND 

at intervals he murmured with an almost voluptuous 
pleasure in the words : “ You’re drunk, Kenyon, you’re 
frightfully drunk.” At the same time he took pleasure 
in the fact, and seemed to himself to have reached a 
solution, simple enough, yet never discovered by any- 
body else, of all his difficulties, and of all the problems 
and contradictions of life. For the moment he desired 
nothing more than the continuance of his present state, 
in which, though conscious that his paradise was arti- 
ficial and finite, he gloried in his temporary mastery 
of life’s complexities, and felt in every action of his 
body the secure and buoyant power of the superman. 

After a moment or two he became aware that the 
quadrangle was dotted with figures less at one with 
nature than he. The sound of humanity struggling in 
the grip of excessive alcoholic rapture jarred un- 
pleasantly upon his mood of divine aloofness, and rising 
from the ground he prepared to return to Hall. The 
fresh air had combined with the wine to complete his 
feeling of ecstasy. The slight unsteadiness of gait 
which he had noticed and striven to control had almost 
vanished. To outward view, but for his heightened 
colour and shining eyes, he seemed perfectly normal, 
within he seemed to himself a prince of gods and men. 

Though he imagined that he had been absent from 
Hall but a few moments, he had in fact been gone for 
a considerable time. During his absence the feast had 
proceeded with uninterrupted gaiety, and the scene had 
somewhat changed its character. The air was now thick 
with cigar smoke, and above the general noise, reduced 
to its minimum by the violent efforts of those who were 
still sober, the voices of the speech-makers were dimly 
audible. What was said did not seem to matter much. 
The audience had apparently joined in a general con- 


A CITY IN THE FOREGROUND 15; 

spiracy to applaud loudly every sentence of every orator, 
and it was only necessary for somebody to rise to his 
feet and say “Gentlemen” in a ringing voice, to be 
greeted by the enthusiasm that is aroused in less elated 
gatherings by nothing but the most superb eloquence. 

As Hugh entered and made his way carefully to his 
old seat the room broke into a pandemonium of clap- 
ping, cheering, catcalls and rattling of chairs in support 
of a speaker who had just sat down. The official toast 
list had, apparently, been completed, and there seemed 
some uncertainty as to who was next to address the 
room. Hugh took his place, and was dimly conscious 
as he did so of some especial disturbance taking place 
in his own immediate neighbourhood. Geoffrey, his face 
very flushed and his hair in wild disarray, was struggling 
to his feet, while his friends were attempting to pull him 
down again into his chair. There was a mingled noise 
of protest, abuse, encouragement. 

“ Don't be a fool ” 

“ Sit down.” 

“Get him outside for heaven’s sake.” 

“Le’ ’im alone.” 

“Goo’ ole Geoffrey.” 

Above which his own shrill voice was clearly audible. 

“ Why shou’n’t I make speech ? I’m’s goo’s that prig 
Ritchie any day — le’ go my coat or I’ll dam’ well knock 
you down !” And then, with a violent effort at serious- 
ness and steadiness of diction — 

“ Gen’lemen, there’s one toast we haven’t drunk yet, 
which I feel honou’d ’n proposin’. Goo’ old ‘ Camel,’ 
bes’ don, ’nd bes’ f How in college. ’S dam’ fine f’llow, 
an’ I’ll fight anyonewhosaysisn’ !” (“Hear, hear.” 
“Goo’ ole ‘Camel’!” “Shut up.” “Pull him down.” 
“You’re drunk.”) 


158 A CITY IN THE FOREGROUND 

“ Who says I’m di-unk ? I know I’m drunk, gloriously 
drunk, but tha’ doesn’ alter fac’ that * Camel’s’ bloody 
hne chap 

“For God’s sake knock him on the head and get him 
away,” whispered Harold, “ this’ll just about put the 
finishing touch to ‘ Camel’s ’ chances.” 

Hugh thus appealed to, turned solemnly to Geoffrey, 
and said with exaggerated distinctness : “ Sit down, 
Geoffrey, you’re only making a fool of yourself.” 

The only effect of his words was to make Geoffrey 
still more angry, and to draw down upon himself the 
full force of his fury. 

“ I’m fool, am I ? I’m the only f Ilow here with any 
guts; if you’d go’ courage of half female louse you’d 
stick up for ‘ Camel ’ too ! Gen’lemen, at least those of 
you who are gen’lemen an’ not crowd of dam’ skunks, 

I say ’ts curs’ shame for * Camel ’ to be bullied because 
helped frien.’ ’S dam’ shame for lot of mealy-mouthed 
skunks, lot of dirty minded hypocrites to try’n boss 
college. ’S dam’ fine college, won dam’ fine race t’day, 
an’ ‘ Camel’s ’ bes’ f How in it — gi’ me ’nother drink — 
wha’ th’ hell d’you think you’re doin’ ?” as Harold leant 
across and snatched the bottle of champagne away just 
as Geoffrey was going to fill his glass. “You pr’tend 
you’re frien’ of ‘ Camel,’ you’re only filthy hypocrite like 
rest of ’em.” 

At this moment Creighton, who had been looking as 
black as thunder for some time, whispered hurriedly to 
Mason, got up, and walked quickly out at the senior 
common room door. At the same moment Block ley, as 
president of the Committee, rose, and making a trumpet 
of his hands, shouted in a voice that could be heard 
above the pandemonium : 

“ Gentlemen, if you will kindly leave the hall for a 


A CITY IN THE FOREGROUND 159 

quarter of an hour, the servants will clear the floor for 
dancing.” 

There was an immediate scuffle of feet : benches and 
chairs crashed to the ground, and the whole crowd of 
diners swept towards the door. Geoffrey, still struggling 
to speak, was enveloped by his friends, and half pushed, 
half carried, threatening violence to all, into the open air. 

For the next fifteen minutes the quad was a mass of 
reeling figures, some staggering in arm-linked chains 
across the grass, shouting challenges to the lighted 
windows of All Saints*, which overlooked the college, 
others dancing in rings round the trees, many leaning 
helplessly against the corners of stairways or being 
violently sick in the recesses of kindly shrubberies. 
From the further quad, inhabited for the most part by 
the richer members of the college, came the sound of 
hunting horns and the cracking of whips. The noise 
continued unabated until the sound of renewed music 
from the now transformed hall drew the majority back 
to expend their energy in dancing. 

* * * * nk 

The rest of that night Hugh never remembered in 
detail, though certain disconnected events stood out after- 
wards with startling distinctness. Scenes changed with 
the bewildering rapidity of a cinematograph, and all 
sense of continuity was lost. He must have gone several 
times to watch the dancing, for he had various confused 
impressions of the hall, all of which it was impossible 
that he should have received at one visit. There was 
a vague recollection of joining in a wild set of lancers, 
of wondering solemnly at the activity of his own feet, 
of falling terrifically on his head, and hearing voices 
enquiring anxiously whether he was much hurt, 
although he was conscious of no discomfort from his 


i6o A CITY IN THE FOREGROUND 


bruises, which, reviewed in the light of the following 
day, when he appeared with a bump as large as a 
pigeon’s egg on his forehead, were serious enough to 
have stunned him in a more sober mood. To a later 
period, surely, belonged the “debagging” of young 
Abrahams. Whether he had taken part in the assault, 
or merely watched it, he could never clearly determine. 
The rich young Jew, long unpopular in the college for 
his snobbish arrogance, had wisely absented himself 
from dinner, but returning from a feast elsewhere had 
been led by curiosity to watch the festivities. He was 
seen at once and hustled violently into the quad, where 
he was relieved of all his clothes, except his shirt and 
wrist-watch, and was left to shiver disconsolately, the 
centre of a vast circle of yelling maniacs, until, the sport 
beginning to pall, he was allowed to escape to his rooms. 

Certain details Hugh recalled with greater clearness 
of detail. Thus, he could almost repeat word for word 
his strange conversation with Strang, the mystically in- 
clined poet, whom he encountered on the roof of the 
fellows’ library, declaiming to the stars a mixture of his 
own and other people’s verse. Hugh was never quite 
certain as to how or why he got to the roof, all he 
remembered definitely was Strang, in pyjamas, astride 
a gargoyle, his queer head of golden hair flung back 
against the night sky, shouting strange words. He was 
saying something, he remembered about — 

“ God with his great green beard and his little 
eyes ” when he noticed Hugh clambering danger- 

ously along the gutter. They had welcomed one another 
with embraces, and for what afterwards seemed hours, 
had sat side by side, disentangling with superb ease 
the mysteries of life and death. Strang had finally 
succumbed, in tears, upon Hugh’s shoulder, to a wave 


A CITY IN THE FOREGROUND i6i 

of irresistible emotion at the sight of a small squat 
chimney silhouetted against the rising moon. It was, he 
said, to him all the wonder of his childhood, all the 
fervour of youthful first love : it contained the final 
truth of the Universe, and was at once God and man. 
To this Hugh solemnly agreed, and together they wept 
at the glory of the vision and the infinite sadness of 
their isolation. Finally, they must have separated, for 
Hugh had a clouded memory of being in a hot room, 
of distinguishing faces that he knew, of hearing Geoffrey 
recite the “ Ballad of Sir Patrick Spens,” of drinking 
something from a glass which always seemed full, of 
seeing bodies bent over a roulette board, of helping very 
clumsily and very solemnly to put someone to bed in 
the next room. 

All these jostled memories seemed, however, to con- 
verge and focus on the supreme event of the bonfire. It 
must have been while he was still watching the roulette 
that the first warning crackle came through the open 
window. Everybody in the room had stopped talking 
on the moment, and for the fraction of a minute there 
had been complete silence. Then a wild cry of “ Bonner” 
had broken out, apparently from the united throats of 
the whole college, as though some vast incarnation of 
Knox had come suddenly to life with a stentorian voice. 
There had been a wild rush to the door, and the next 
thing that Hugh remembered clearly was tearing across 
the quad with a sense of incredible speed and lightness 
that only drunkenness can give, of falling down re- 
peatedly, of not minding at all, of seeing finally the 
gathering flames of a colossal pyre piled in the middle 
of the fellows’ garden. Every member of the college 
seemed to be there. Dancing was forgotten, from 

IX 


i 62 a city in the foreground 

corners and doorways raced figures carrying fuel in 
every form. From open windows chairs and tables, 
picture frames and curtains, were flung down to the 
waiting crowd. From the college lavatory, in particular, 
came a procession that was greeted with wild cheers and 
laughter. (The damage done here caused great discom- 
fort to the undergraduates of Knox for many subse- 
quent days. The authorities, with unexpected humour, 
delayed the repair of certain necessary fixtures, and 
earnest lady visitors, wandering about the quadrangle, 
suffered much painful embarrassment from the sight of 
carpenters, with strangely festooned arms, moving 
leisurely among the trees and shrubberies of the garden.) 

Stoked thus enthusiastically, the fire grew rapidly to 
enormous proportions. In a moment of miraculous 
sobriety, its architects had laid it well away from the 
college buildings, but, even so, the gigantic column of 
flame began to threaten serious damage, and efforts were 
made by those who were still reasonably responsible for 
their actions to diminish the magnitude of the blaze. 
Their unaided efforts would have had little effect, but 
luckily the supply of fresh fuel began to fail, and the 
crowd contented itself with dancing in a huge ring 
round the fire, singing, shouting and laughing, as long 
as the flames continued. These were beginning to die 
down when, suddenly, the general attention was drawn 
to a body of new arrivals, who raced up, headed by 
Geoffrey, bearing in his arms a tumbled heap of bed- 
clothes, which he threw into the very heart of the flame. 
Behind him came four figures, carrying between them a 
mattress, which was swung with a great cheer on to the 
already burning sheets and blankets. The assembled 
college roared applause, and quickly the word was 
passed by delighted mouths that it was Mason’s bed- 


A CITY IN THE FOREGROUND 163 

room which had been thus daringly sacked. Joy, how- 
ever, gave place to frightened uneasiness when, a few 
minutes later, the great figure of the science lecturer, 
fully robed in cap and gown, came striding towards the 
spot. His sudden appearance seemed to sober even the 
wildest, and the babel of noise was succeeded by an 
almost uncanny silence, broken only by the crackling 
and hissing of the fire. 

Mason had brought with him a small army of scouts, 
who proceeded, under his direction, to empty pails of 
water on to the blazing heap. Gradually, the flames 
died down, and the air was filled with evil-smelling 
smoke. Within a quarter of an hour, the bonfire had 
been reduced to a mound of dripping ashes, and the 
quad, lately so full of yelling figures, was almost 
deserted. 

This was the last event that Hugh remembered 
clearly. How he spent the rest of the night he never 
knew. He was vaguely conscious of dim, nightmare- 
like figures flitting across the background of his con- 
sciousness, and at times he could almost swear that he 
had helped Geoffrey in the throes of a gargantuan fit 
of vomiting somewhere in the neighbourhood of the 
front porch, Geoffrey’s memory was, however, a blank 
on this point, and Flugh remained for ever uncertain 
whether he had actually assisted at such a scene or had 
merely dreamed it in the uneasy sleep from which he 
awoke, tousled, dirty and miserable, about the middle 
of the next day. 

* ♦ * ♦ * 

When, late in the afternoon, he began to rouse himself 
to a renewed interest in life, and to take stock of the 
jostled images of the night’s events that remained in his 
mind, he found himself wondering what steps had been 


i 64 a city in the FOREGROUND 

taken against the originators of the bonfire, and, more 
particularly, the ringleaders in the assault on Mason’s 
rooms and dignity. As luck would have it, on his way 
to the junior common room to pick up gossip, he ran 
straight into Geoffrey, sullen and pale, in a tattered 
scholar’s gown, returning, so he gathered, from a hastily 
convened college meeting. A peculiarly lenient bench 
(so Hugh thought, but did not say) had decided merely 
to send him down for the rest of the term, warning him 
severely against any repetition of such conduct, and 
threatening the direst penalties in the event of further 
misconduct. Sanderson shared the same fate : Cyril 
Harborough, together with a motley collection of the 
more energetic revellers, had been “ gated ” for two 
weeks, otherwise no measures had been taken against 
the rank and file of the college. Hugh gathered, how- 
ever, from Geoffrey’s embarrassed reticence that some- 
thing more serious had happened. After a few moments’ 
silence, it came out. 

“ I don’t so much care about myself,” he said, “ it’s 
pretty damnable, and I shall get the hell of a time at 
home for a bit, but, after all, I asked for it, and I suppose 
I can’t complain. But it’s rotten hard luck on ‘ Camel.* ” 

“ What’s happened to him ?” 

“ He’s going down too.” 

“ Is he, by Jove !” 

“ It was all my fault too : if I hadn’t made a fool of 
myself in Hall, nothing would have happened.” 

It was a pity, thought Hugh, that Geoffrey hadn’t con- 
sidered that aspect of the business at the time, but his 
friend was so obviously bowed with remorse that he 
forbore to touch the open wound. 

*‘Weil, cheer up, old man,” he said, “it’s not nearly 


A CITY IN THE FOREGROUND 165 

so bad as it might have been. See you next term in 
the ‘ digs ’ ” — and he left Geoffrey kicking viciously at 
the gravel, and cursing himself audibly beneath his 
breath. 

From others he found out that the story he had heard 
exaggerated, at least by implication, the seriousness of 
the situation. Creighton, it appeared, had gone to the 
President and suggested that it might be better if he 
went away for the rest of the term. The events of the 
bump supper, coming on top of everything else, had 
made his position in the college decidedly difficult, and, 
as he pointed out, his absence from Oxford until 
October would allow the atmosphere time to clear. To 
the President, already worried by the threatenings of 
civil discord which even he could no longer ignore, the 
suggestion came as a godsend. He shook Creighton by 
the hand, told him that he considered him entirely 
blameless, and concluded by hoping that they would 
be able to start the winter term in a spirit of general 
goodwill. 

Thus the battle royal over Creighton’s body, of which 
Hugh had been a close and interested spectator ever 
since the evening of the Winstanleys’ dance, came at last 
to a decision. It had been pregnant with possible dis- 
aster, and few members of Knox but felt relieved that 
things had turned out no worse. Creighton had, be- 
yond doubt, behaved in the matter with exemplary tact, 
and had gained, on the whole, more well-wishers than 
enemies. It seemed unlikely that relations, in the future, 
would ever again be as strained as they had been in the 
past, and the college settled down to finish the summer 
term purged of much, if not all, of the poison which for 
so long had been working in its system. 


CHAPTER X 


One aftern(x>n, about ten days before “ schools,” John 
Delmeage walked into Hugh’s room just as he was 
finishing lunch. 

“ You doing anything particular this afternoon, 
Hugh ?” he asked. 

‘‘ Nothing.” 

“Come along, then. I’m getting stale, so I shall 
knock off work for the day.” 

“ You’re looking rather run down. Aren’t you going 
away ? I thought everybody took a compulsory holiday 
before ‘ schools.’ ” 

“ I’m going down to Sussex on Monday for a few days, 
but I don’t think I shall do much more reading between 
now and then : my brain’s completely addled. I tell you 
what. I’ll punt you up to Ferry Hinksey for tea, and 
we’ll walk back.” 

“Righto, just wait a minute while I fill my pouch 
and collect some cushions.” 

“ I want to run over and get some tobacco, so I’ll meet 
you in the porch in five minutes.” 

As, ten minutes later, Hugh and John were walking 
arm in arm towards Folly Bridge, they met Colquhoun 
at the corner of Carfax. Weather and temperature made 
no difference to his personal appearance. Despite the 
heat of the summer afternoon, he was elaborately dressed 
as usual, even to his spats, stiff white collar and over^ 
whelming tie. 

1 66 


A CITY IN THE FOREGROUND 167 

" Hullo,” he said, “ where are you two off to ?” 

“ We’re going into the country for tea, Cumnor way.” 

“ Where no doubt you will read Matthew Arnold and 
indulge in an orgy of sentiment. I’m told that one gets 
an admirable view of the gasworks from the hill !” 

“ What are you doing ?” 

“ I’m going to the cinema for an hour or two : my 
usual form of recreation. I see there are some rather 
good comics this week. *Calino buys a bicycle,’ and 
‘ Tontolini, trapper.* ” 

“ That’s Queen Street, isn’t it ? Go down to George 
Street, they’re showing a wonderful new man there, 
Charles Chaplin, a real genius.” 

“Comic?” 

“ Heavens, yes ! he’s the only real artist the * pictures ’ 
have produced ; have you seen him, Hugh ?” 

“ No, I can’t do with George Street, it’s too full of 
Pembie men on the track of amorous adventure.” 

“ Never mind that, you simply must see Chaplin. 
Take my advice, Theodor, and give Calino a miss this 
afternoon.” 

“No, I love my Calino, I’ll wait for the new man till 
you can be my guide. Come along to-night and intro- 
duce me ?” 

“ Can’t manage to-night : how about to-morrow ?” 

“All right: directly after dinner.” 

“ Capital, we’ll all go : you’ll come too, Hugh ?” 

“ I’ll put my scruples in my pocket.” 

They left Colquhoun and strolled on towards the river. 

“What an extraordinary person old Theodor is,” said 
Hugh, after a moment or two. “With all his pose and 
affectation, there’s something amazingly simple about 
him : he really does love the cinema.” 


i68 A CITY IN THE FOREGROUND 

“He was always like that, even at school. When I 
knew him first, I could see the struggle going on quite 
plainly between the attitude he was slowly building up 
for the general public and his natural instincts which 
kept on breaking through. I think he saw pretty soon 
that I wasn’t going to be taken in, and he rather liked 
me for it. I became a sort of safety valve for him, and 
it made us great friends.” 

“ I think he likes me rather in the same way. I can’t 
help having an affection for him, although at times he 
makes one perfectly wild.” 

“ He’s an admirable person at bottom : of course, his 
affectations are all part of the same business. He’s like 
a precocious child, who likes to feel he’s shocking the 
grown-ups.” 

“Possibly, but there’s rather more in it than that. 
He’s frightfully shrewd, he knows exactly what he wants 
and how to get it. I’ve always got a certain amount of 
sympathy for people like that, perhaps because I envy 
their definiteness.” 

“Theodor’s never doubted for a moment what he 
wanted to get out of life. He started pulling strings, 
or getting his parents to pull them ; as soon as he could 
talk.” 

“He could be pretty unscrupulous if he thought it 
would pay.” 

“ Possibly, but he’d always be ready to admit it to 
his friends and laugh at himself over it.” 

“ Provided his friends didn’t try to stop him : I 
shouldn’t care to be up against Theodor seriously : 
there’s not much that he’d stop at.” 

“ I think you’re rather hard on him, Hugh. He’s 
awfully loyal. You should see him with his parents. 
He’s the most dutiful and affectionate son I know.” 


A CITY IN THE FOREGROUND 169 

" Like a lot of people who inveigh against sentiment, 
he's got a secret bath of it in which he wallows.” 

“ I think you're too critical. Well, here we are. That's 
the punt up there by the bridge : no, that one with the 
cushions : just give me a hand and I'll pull her in.” 

John, on this particular afternoon, had one of his 
occasional fits of energy, and insisted on Hugh lying 
down while he did the work. For the first mile he 
punted vigorously, “ to get past the filthy gasworks ” ; 
once under the railway bridge, however, and into the 
Hinksey backwater, he slackened, merely touching the 
bottom now and again with the pole to keep clear of 
the banks. 

Hugh, at full length, with his hat over his eyes, 
watched him in an ecstasy of physical and mental re- 
laxation. 

“ This is miles better than the Cher,” he said lazily, 
after a long silence. 

“ Rather : nobody ever comes up here except * Camel ' 
every now and then when he wants to bathe. The Cher's 
so confoundedly crowded, too civilised altogether. You 
can jump into the water here with nothing on, and 
bask on the bank afterwards : there's no one to see 
you.” 

“ ‘ Made one long bathing ot a summer’s day. 

Basked in the sun, and plunged, and basked again,’ ” 

murmured Hugh. 

The silence of the afternoon was sweetly broken by 
the gentle ripple of the water from their bows, the occa- 
sional grating “scrunch” of the pole as it dropped to 
the river bed, and the constant ground bass of humming 
insects. From Hugh the nearer landscape was cut off 
on either hand by the low sandy banks with their 
serrated horizon of waving grass. Low lying behind 


i;o A CITY IN THE FOREGROUND 

John’s upright figure he could just see the towers and 
spires of Oxford rising into a shimmering mist of heat 
above the heavy foliage of the summer trees. Occasion- 
ally a water-rat peeped out at them with startled eyes, 
waited a moment, and then dropped with a “plomp” 
that sounded curiously exaggerated in the general still- 
ness. At intervals a cuckoo called from the blue mystery 
of Wytham Woods, accentuating by its note the caress- 
ing peace that lay upon the scene with an almost 
physical pressure. 

For a long time neither of the two men spoke. The 
magic of the early June was upon them both. Life 
seemed to have attained one of those rare moments of 
perfection in which every movement, every breath, every 
thought, seems complete in itself, in which all sense of 
struggle and opposition dies away in the enjoyment of 
the present. At such times the simplest actions and 
experiences are raised suddenly to a plane altogether 
different from that of every day. The movement of a 
foot, the touch of water on the hand trailed overboard, 
the sound of trees, the smell of hay, all seem sensations 
sharpened for the time to an abnormal pitch of intensity. 
Every nerve and organ seems unrestricted, as never 
before, and attains what appears to be its ultimate ful- 
ness of pleasure in the mere perfect performance of its 
function. The sense of Time loses suddenly all its 
significance, and past, present and future are fused 
together into the inexpressible satisfaction of the 
supremely realised “ now.” 

Moments like these come, as Hugh well knew, un- 
sought. They can neither be encouraged nor repeated 
at will, and it is the part of a wise man to recognise and 
hold them for a delicious moment before they ebb and 


A CITY IN THE FOREGROUND 171 

vanish. While he grasped his present joy, he wanted 
nothing more than for the moment to be struck into 
eternity. Life thus concentrated and realised lacked 
nothing. By its very completeness it was beyond ex- 
pression, and he felt no need of anything on his part 
save absolute surrender. At such times he did actually 
feel that unity of life at which he aimed so steadfastly, 
in which he believed so intensely, but which normally 
escaped him with such maddening persistence. The 
very restlessness of his mind made such moments of 
effortless mastery doubly sweet, though it made unlikely 
their frequent recurrence. It was not simply that such 
experiences refused to be summoned at will, that they 
glimmered afar off as a goal impossible of conscious 
attainment. He knew well enough that his mind in reac- 
tion would question their validity, torturing him with the 
thought that the peace they gave was a false peace, lead- 
ing to a passive coma from which it was his duty to 
struggle as soon as he felt it overpowering him. Some- 
times a strange whimsical humour came to spoil the en- 
joyment, and he would think suddenly that, after all, 
the experience could be recaptured with a bottle or two 
of burgundy. Was not the memory of grass and summer 
trees, at which he gazed in the intervals of the bump 
supper, still with him to shake him out of his fits of 
solemn ecstasy ? But whatever form his awakening took, 
it was, he knew, bound to come suddenly, breaking in on 
the wonder of his dream, and driving across the radiant 
sky of his desire the cold sea mist of returning con- 
sciousness. Why, the very fact that he could thus review 
his mental and emotional states, that he could actually 
foretell the debate which was fated to arise in his mind, 
told him beyond all doubt that the fine flower of the 


1/2 A CITY IN THE FOREGROUND 

mood had passed. His complete absorption in the 
wonder of the moment was over. Here, already, was 
the necessity for adding to it, for examining, for paint- 
ing the lily and refining gold : for giving expression to 
something, the essence of whose perfection was that it 
needed no expression. How well he understood the 
temptation of the opium eater ! 

The silence became oppressive. Hugh sat up with a 
jerk and started to fill his pipe. 

*‘How perfect Oxford looks from here,” he said. “I 
never love it so much as when I’m away from it. I 
know it sounds a poor compliment, but it’s not. Perhaps 
it would be truer to say that I love it entirely when I’m 
not actually in it. I don’t know whether you feel the 
same sort of thing, but somehow I never quite capture 
the whole magic when I’m there, something’s always 
just escaping me.” 

John dropped the pole gently into the water and sent 
the punt rippling forward before answering. 

‘‘ I don’t think I quite feel that, but I do realise that 
one never tastes the full flavour of Oxford until one has 
to leave it. One’s first two years, when one has the 
chance of getting everything out of the place, one 
always just misses it. It’s in one’s last year, or when 
one is tied down with work, that the full glory touches 
one, just too late.” 

“ Are you really going down this term ?” 

“ Must. I’ve had four years of it, and only meant to 
stay up three. I envy you, Hugh, with another autumn, 
another spring, and another summer.” 

I should envy myself if I thought I was going to get 
what I’ve always missed.” 

“ I’ve sometimes thought of trying for a fellowship, 
just to prolong it all.” 


A CITY IN THE FOREGROUND 173 

“Such heaps of men have done that. But, somehow, 
if it’s just sentimental, I don’t believe it’s worth doing. 
You’ve got to be in love with the life of a don^ not simply 
with Oxford, to make anything of it. There’s got to be 
something more than just sorrow at leaving a place 
you’ve liked.” 

The voices tailed off again into silence as the banks 
drifted lazily past. After a moment Hugh continued, 
almost to himself. 

“ You can never really recapture the old life. The 
best don and the best schoolmaster is the man who 
takes up his work as something new, not the one who 
turns to it as a continuation of something old. After 
all, half the glamour here is growing up, you can’t get 
it back once you are grown up. Surely you believe that, 
John ?” 

“ I do, in my heart of hearts : but I’m frightfully 
cowardly about breaking with the place. I try to 
persuade myself that I should like the work, that, even 
if I didn’t, I should find something worth the sacrifice 
of a problematical career. Some men do.” 

“ Can you point to anybody ?” 

“ ‘ Camel,’ for instance.” 

“ Has he made such a terrific success of it ? A few 
weeks ago I’d have said without any doubt in my own 
mind that he was a failure, that his was the one kind of 
life one ought to avoid. Now I’m not so certain about it. 
Everyone seems to have been preaching ‘ Camel’ at me 
this term, there’s been a kind of conspiracy, and I’m 
losing my certainty, like I always do.” 

“ He’s got just what he’s always wanted.” 

“ And it’s ended in things getting into an impossible 
tangle, which he’s had to unravel by submitting to 
punishment like a naughty boy.” 


i;4 A CITY IN THE FOREGROUND 

“ That wasn’t his fault, he’s been victimised by his 
friends. But for that damned fool Farmer the whole 
thing would have blown over without any unpleasant- 
ness at all ; you can’t throw it in his teeth.” 

“But, don’t you see, John, that what’s happened had 
to happen? You say that ‘Camel’ was victimised by 
his friends; well, isn’t it obvious that any man who 
works up that kind of circle is bound to be victimised 
by his friends sooner or later? I’ve got a thorough 
respect for the man now which I hadn’t before. I think 
he’s behaved splendidly, and think I see why he’s so 
popular, but I do believe my original view was right 
about his position. ‘ Camel’ tries to do the impossible.” 

“ I don’t see that what you’re saying has the slightest 
bearing on the original discussion. He at least got 
what he wanted. He’s been perfectly happy, even with 
all this row on, and when it’s blown over he’ll be just 
as happy again. He chose the life with his eyes open. 
I suppose he could have had the choice of a career at 
almost anything, Foreign Office, Bar, business, but he 
preferred to stay at Knox.” 

“ Why ?” 

“How should I know? I can’t tell you his motives. 
My dear Hugh, be reasonable, he stayed, I suppose, 
because, like me, he found intolerable the thought of 
breaking with Oxford.” 

“I don’t think he acted quite so much on impulse as 
you think; he’s not that sort of person. His motives, I 
believe, were much more clear-cut and elaborate. I 
believe myself that he thought he could keep eternally 
young by hanging on to the coat-tails of young men. 
I can’t imagine him really old, and it’s because he 
daren^t imagine himself old that he’s staying on. It’s 
a form of cowardice, as I said before.” 


A CITY IN THE FOREGROUND 175 

“ Don’t we all want to keep young, and if we can do 
it that way, why not ? He at least has succeeded.” 

“I don’t know, I want more evidence, John. I’ve got 
a theory about ‘ Camel ’ : no, I won’t go into it now, 
because we should only disagree, and I don’t want to do 
that to-day, it’s too perfect.” 

Another silence, into which the sound of distant voices 
broke suddenly. Hugh looked up at the sound. 

“ Hullo, here we are,” he said. 

Just ahead of them the grey stone bridge of Ferry 
Hinksey spanned the sluggish water, a single sleepy 
fisherman dangling his legs from the parapet. Between 
the trees on their left-hand the white of canvas announced 
a summer camp, abandoned now by bathers in the pool 
beyond the bridge. High up the bank the red brick of 
the inn glowed in the afternoon sun against the fresh 
green of its sloping garden, at the foot of which the 
green ferry-boat creaked and jangled on its sagging 
chain. From Wytham woods the cuckoos still called. 

The punt splashed jerkily from side to side as John 
bent to ship the pole into the thongs. 

‘‘ Let’s leave her here and walk up the hiU,” he said, 
catching at the low blunt prow of the ferry and pulling 
their own craft into the bank. “We can send someone 
up for it to-morrow.” 

“ All right. We’d better leave the cushions in the inn, 
though, hadn’t we ?” 

« 

They stepped out on to the road and turned uphill by 
the church. The voices of the bathers came up to them 
through the hot still air of the afternoon. The rattle 
of the chain as the ferry was run to the opposite bank, 
the splash of divers^ the staccato call of the cuckoos, all 


i;6 A CITY IN THE FOREGROUND 

seemed to point the delicious stillness of the day. Hugh 
felt an overwhelming desire to talk, to unburden himself. 
Like most naturally secretive persons, he was impelled 
at moments to abandon his reserve to a degree unusual 
with people normally less reserved. He would make 
the resolve suddenly, on impulse, and without further 
thought pour himself out in a sudden release of pent up 
emotion. Something in the scene and in the day called 
for confidence. It was not that he wanted actual help 
or advice from John, but there was sufficient sympathy 
between the two to assure him a patient hearing. Be- 
yond that at the moment he did not seek. 

Slowly they climbed the hill. 

“You know I liked what you said at the Congreve 
the other night most awfully, John. I don’t know when 
I’ve been so influenced by a speech. Funnily enough, I 
knew pretty well what you were going to say, but the 
knowledge didn’t affect me at all. It was simply, I 
suppose, your personality.” 

“You attacked me pretty thoroughly, old man,” 
laughed John. 

“Well, I think I made up for that by admitting my 
defeat, didn’t I ? As a matter of fact, I still believe I 
was right, although I did surrender. I wonder whether 
I can explain what I mean.” 

“ Don’t be too complex : I’m trying to take a rest from 
schools, remember ! ” 

“I’ll try and make it clear. I do want most fright- 
fully to straighten out all this tangle in my mind. My 
point is this, John. As far as the purely aesthetic side 
of your argument goes. I’m sure you’re wrong, I believe 
you’re carried away by an idea, and yet, in my heart 
of hearts, I want to be carried away too : that’s the root 


A CITY IN THE FOREGROUND i;; 

of the matter with me, and it probably influenced me the 
other night against my better judgment.” 

“ I don’t quite get you.” 

“Well, look here. I’m sure that really and truly all 
this movement you’re so keen about is decadent.” 

“ Don’t talk cliches, Hugh.” 

“ Oh, I don’t mean it in the penny journalism way. 
If I saw any real vigour, any power of expansion in the 
thing. I’d give in at once.” 

“ It’s the only chance of expansion and growth that 
painting has got ; that I truly believe.” 

“ That’s what you’ve got to persuade me.” 

“ Well, at any rate, you’ll admit that it’s wakened 
people up, it’s shaken them out of their groove and 
opened their eyes, if only by annoying them.” 

“ Of course it has, but if that’s the best you can say 
for it, you’re fighting for a losing cause. If you saw a 
man standing on his head in the middle of Piccadilly, 
you’d wake up, but I can’t see that you’d be justified in 
teaching the value of topsy-turveydom.” 

“ I didn’t say that that was its only merit. There’s 
much more than that. The world’s been given a new 
vision, such as I don’t think it’s had since the Re- 
naissance.” 

“ That’s another thing I want to be certain about.” 

“ My dear Hugh, surely you don’t deny vitality and 
vision to Cezanne, Gauguin, Van Gogh ?” 

“No, I think they’re honest enough, Cezanne and 
Gauguin certainly, they are at least, and at most, men 
searching for personal expression, and I don’t think they 
bothered themselves much about theory. But I believe 
that a lot of rather stupid young men who want to make 
a sensation are inclined to preach them as a gospel.” 

12 


i;8 A CITY IN THE FOREGROUND 

“ But surely you can never get a great movement 
without disciples ?” 

“ In art you want disciples of principle, not of method.” 

I don’t agree. In this particular case the revolution 
is so complete, the break from tradition so violent, that 
the method, at present, is an integral part of the move- 
ment.” 

‘‘ If I thought it was only at ‘ present,’ I shouldn’t 
mind so much. What I’m afraid of is the birth, not of 
a new vision, but of a new convention, just as rigid, 
unimaginative and stationary as any that you want to 
destroy.” 

" A convention of honesty can never become a conven- 
tion in its worst sense, so long as it is true to itself it 
will be fresh and living.” 

Exactly, that’s precisely what I’m trying to get at. 
You think you’re preaching sincerity of outlook, but in 
reality you’re upholding a trick of technique which 
happens to have caught your eye. You can see that that 
is so by the attitude of any modern art critic to pictures. 
If he goes to an exhibition and misses the modern 
‘touch,’ he damns it as a rule without a second thought 
for the sincerity or the ‘vision.’ He’s looking for a 
trick, and if he doesn’t find it, nothing’s too bad to say 
or write. Thafs what I’m complaining about. The 
whole vocabulary of criticism has changed. We are 
told that a thing is well drawn when it shows no sign 
whatever of drawing or architecture, that colour is subtle 
when it is crude, and surface quality is distinguished 
when it has been neglected. The danger of the whole 
movement to my mind is that it tends towards a sterile 
subjectivity.” 

“My dear Hugh, how contradictory you are. I re- 


A CITY IN THE FOREGROUND 179 

member the other evening you were supporting sub- 
jectivity in art as hard as you could : that evening we 
were discussing Dostoielfsky with ‘ Camel.’ ” 

“ By that I meant personal angle of vision directed to 
a common object. By subjectivity, as I used it just 
now, I mean the extreme limit of perversity by which 
personality ceases simply to alter the angle from which 
a thing is seen and tries to alter the thing itself.” 

“I deny your right to limit the degree of individual 
vision.” 

“ Then you must deny the possibility of continuing or 
developing any form of artistic expression, except as a 
personal indulgence of the artist. You must take your 
audience into account, whether you’re painting a picture, 
composing a symphony, or writing a play. I don’t mean 
that you’ve got to truckle to your public, but I do insist 
on your talking a language intelligible to people other 
than yourself. You can’t just invent a code to which 
you alone hold the key. You moderns are trying to 
preach a doctrine that nobody in art matters except the 
artist, thafs what I mean when I say that the move- 
ment is decadent. Art of that kind is moribund. Its 
logical conclusion is death. You come at length to a 
state of affairs in which each individual artist analyses 
graphically the convolutions of his own mind in terms 
and idioms unintelligible to anybody else. In fact, 
you end in what the metaphysicians call ' solipsism.’ ” 

“ What on earth’s that ?” 

“ ‘ Solipsism ’ is the logical result of a system of phil- 
osophy which derives all phenomena, all external reality, 
from the mind of the individual observer. He thinks 
himself into the final belief that he alone is real, with 
the result that he usually ends in a madhouse.” 


i8o A CITY IN THE FOREGROUND 

“ But if you believe all this so strongly now, I can’t 
see how you can have been influenced by anything I 
said the other night Why do you want to be carried 
away, as you say you do, if you are so convinced that 
you are right ?” 

“Let me ask you another question, John, in return. 
You are still an honest believer in these things ? You 
really do feel a vitality and vigour in the art you 
defend ?” 

“ Most certainly I do.” 

“ Well, then, you’ve found salvation. You have some- 
thing definite in which to believe, which is a thousand 
times better than having nothing but a power of criticis- 
ing other people’s beliefs with none of your own to fall 
back upon. My dear John, to be born before your time 
carries with it certain compensations : you can at least 
feel superior, you may, in extreme cases, enjoy the 
ecstasy of prospective martyrdom. To be born behind 
your time, unless all your faculties are consistently of 
the same period, is absolute hell. I shouldn’t mind a 
jot if I was wholeheartedly of an earlier generation. I 
should have my own enthusiasms, my own beliefs, I 
could follow ideals in which I implicitly believed, I 
could challenge all change, all developments, and be 
happy in my creed. That’s just what I can’t do. I hear 
the wind of youth whispering in the trees, but somehow 
I can never get out on to the hill top into the full blast.” 

Hugh stopped, but not for an answer. After a short 
pause he continued. 

“ This particular question of art is nothing, it doesn’t 
really matter to me one way or the other, but it came on 
top of a lot of other things, and seemed to bring the 
whole business to a head. I’m like a punt in deep water, 


A CITY IN THE FOREGROUND i8i 

John, when the pole is too short to reach the bottom. 
Tm drifting the whole time. You people with definite 
beliefs, with clear-cut points of view, can’t conceive the 
agony of having nothing firm to hold to. My brain’s 
all right : I can appreciate, envisage, analyse, but then 
I stop, there’s nothing to drive me in any one direction 
in preference to another. 

“You said a little while ago that you envied me 
another year at Oxford. It’s nothing to my envy of the 
Oxford you’ve already had. You brought something 
definite with you when you came, and Oxford has helped 
you shape it, and chisel it, and see it whole. You’ve 
won all that you could from the place, and you will 
leave it with a rich, unquestioning affection as for some- 
one who has been your intimate friend, from whom 
you’ve got to separate with pain and tears, but whose 
memory will be for you something lasting, and full of 
comfort. I believe I love Oxford even more than you 
do, but my love has got some element of hate in it too, 
because Oxford has always just hidden her face from 
me; there has always been something that escapes me, 
something that I know is there for others, but which / 
have never caught. I came here ready for all that the 
place could give me, only to find that when nothing is 
brought nothing is given. Oh ! you’re all so certain of 
yourselves, you’ve all found what you looked for in 
Oxford, and yet none of you, I believe, yearn after her 
as I do. That’s what I felt so strongly the other night, 
that’s why what you said appealed to me against my 
better reason. You are all young, even Theodor, he 
perhaps more than any of you, with his unerring power 
of grasping just what he wants. Even Malleson, with 
his love for destruction, his perverse desire to build 


i 82 a city in the foreground 

something in which he doesn^t believe; yes, even he 
knows at least what he is after. He’s got a background, 
and that is, after all, what matters, to have a background 
and to aim at a goal, no matter what it is. Geoffrey, 
Harold, Charles, with all his absurdity, everybody ex- 
cept me ! 

“ Look at Oxford down there, how beautiful she is. 
Listen to her bells, the very towers and roofs are talk- 
ing. I know what they’re saying, and I’d give every- 
thing in life if they’d speak to me, but they won’t. Look 
at old Theodor’s gasworks ! What idiotic, ineffectual 
things they are ! They think they’re modem, they hug 
themselves in the thought that they can control the 
future, they pretend to look down on and despise the 
grey mediaevalism beyond them, but they’re nothing 
compared with Oxford. That’s where the real 
modernity is, because life and spirit is eternally modern, 
and that valley city is where life thrills and germinates. 
It doesn’t matter what the professors teach, it’s what the 
■place teaches, it’s the young spirit that breathes in the 
hearts of those who are taught. They come there to 
grow up, and that, after all, is the only teaching worth 
anything. I’m chock full of contradictions. I lose all 
patience with people who talk of Oxford and systems 
of education as though the two had anything to do with 
one another. It’s just because Oxford teaches nothing 
in particular that she is such a priceless possession. 
She has all the treasures of the world hidden in the 
folds of her garments, and he who is lucky enough to be 
able to search for them and find them has the greatest 
education that the world can give. You’ve found part 
of the hoard, and you’ve loved every moment of the 
search. Theodor has found a little, he has at least found 


A CITY IN THE FOREGROUND 183 

himself in Oxford, though he professes to despise it. 
Malleson has found all that he is likely to find, though 
he doesn’t realise it, and would destroy the very thing 
that has given him his power. I have found nothing 
except the knowledge that the treasure is there, and that 
I can never reach it.” 

They stood for some minutes in silence. From their 
feet the hill sloped gently to the river. About them, in 
the windless air, the great elms stood like plumes, fat 
and rich with that peculiar quality of exuberance that 
Oxford soil seems to give so generously. Along the 
fields the hedges were bowed with late hawthorn, the 
grasses bright with meadow flowers. Beyond the ferry 
the flat marshes unrolled towards the city, interlaced in 
every direction by long rows of pollard willows. From 
where they stood, the crumbling causeway of Ruskin’s 
ill-fated road shot straight and distinct like some 
memory of Rome. Behind, massive and unmoved, the 
great keep of the castle lifting from the trees, and above 
all the varied arabesques of towers and steeples from 
which the never silent bells called distantly. 

John broke the silence. 

“ You worry too much about yourself, Hugh, you’re 
too introspective. Why can’t you give yourself a rest, 
devote yourself to some one thing, master it? Try to 
forget your doubts, make an effort; produce something, 
write, paint, lose yourself in a particular interest.” 

The very ineptness of the suggestion had a sobering 
effect on Hugh. It was so sensible, so beside the real 
point. 

“Oh, if only I could, John. I know that’s what I 
ought to do, but I can’t do it. It’s one of the symptoms 
of the disease that one can see what’s wrong, what must 


i 84 a city in the FOREGROUND 

be altered, and yet that one is incapable of action. 
How well I know that nightmare world of Dostoieffsky ! 
I know what it is to distrust myself, to feel every nerve 
raw and exposed, to fancy slights where no slights are 
intended, to be over-sensitive, self-centred, furious with 
my own faults, and yet stuck in the middle of them like 
a man in a quicksand.” 

They left the gate on which they had been leaning 
and walked on. 

“I sometimes think that I might have been helped 
and altered if I had found the right kind of friends. 
Oxford’s great instrument of education is friendship. 
My friends at home have always been too old, so have 
my friends here, or else they have been of a different 
kind. You, Theodor, and the rest of them, are all so 
much senior to me, you are each other’s contemporaries, 
not mine. So that I have never known you, in the way 
that I want to know people, until too late. Of course 
I’ve got plenty of friends of my own year, but they’re 
all so different, Geoffrey, Harold, Cyril Harborough, 
there again they are all so sure of themselves in their 
own way, so intolerant of people who drift like I do. 
I can’t imagine worrying things out with them, they 
don’t feel the need of it themselves,, so why should they 
bother about me ? I’ve got nobody with whom I can 
hammer things out. I suppose the truth of the matter is 
that I’ve got all the vices of the egotist, and none of his 
virtues. I’m intolerably interested in myself, but after 
all I’m not sure that my soul isn’t too unimportant for 
all the observation and analysis I waste upon it. I stir 
myself ruthlessly, but the mess remains a mess, it never 
‘ sets ’ into a shape. An egotist should be able, at least, 
to produce something out of himself, to offer his friends 


A CITY IN THE FOREGROUND 185 
something, otherwise they are justified in getting slightly 
bored with him. Of course I’m not a bit friendless. 
There are always a dozen rooms open to me to go to 
when I want company. . . . I’m not sure that the Knox 
atmosphere is the best thing for me. It’s too negative, 
too over-intellectualised. The typical Knox man is 
brilliant enough, sufficiently sure of himself to indulge 
in criticism and cynical commentary as a recreation. 
I’m just not quite up to that standard. I’ve got rather 
an exaggerated sense of the ludicrous, although I 
oughtn’t to have, with all my various mental dis- 
abilities, and I feel the fascination of destruction and 
analysis sufficiently to yield to it. The effect on me is 
simply disintegrating. I’ve not got enough background 
to be able to play that game safely. I’m really fright- 
fully weak, I take suggestions easily, I reflect atmo- 
sphere, but I contribute little or nothing of my own. 
Look at Geoffrey, for instance. I’ve got a better brain, 
au fondy than he has, but he never doubts himself, he 
makes the very best of what he’s got, and he’s got a 
great deal that I haven’t. His brain’s full of life and 
vigour, with the result that he’s incapable of understand- 
ing anything that he considers morbid. He’s desper- 
ately intolerant, he doesn’t really stimulate me, he has 
an unfortunate way of rubbing against all my raw places, 
unconsciously of course, but persistently. And with it 
all I like him, and he too, I think, in a peculiar way 
likes me. 

“ I believe the right sort of don might have made a lot 
of difference. One comes up to Oxford with all sorts 
of funny ideas. I know I had vague dreams of becom- 
ing somebody’s disciple, of finding a teacher who would 
understand everything, who would help me to find my- 


i86 A CITY IN THE FOREGROUND 

self, with whom I could discuss things, who would really 
help. I suppose I had been brought up with traditions 
of Pater and Arnold and Jowett. Well, somehow it 
didn’t work. It’s frightfully hard for a don to strike 
the happy mean between being a ‘ boy among boys ’ and 
a schoolmaster. To be a real ‘guide, philosopher and 
friend,’ is a life’s work for a genius.” 

“ Why don’t you try to know ‘ Camel ’ better ?” 

“ I’ve always been a little frightened of him, or rather 
of his friends.” 

“You’re rather unjust to him. He’s not a bit like that 
really.” 

“ I know : he’s always been very nice to me. He’s 
asked me to meals, and made himself most agreeable, 
although I’ve never given him much encouragement — 
that sounds damned conceited and offensive, but you 
know what I mean.” 

“ Well, I was glad to see you in his rooms the other 
night. I believe you’d like him awfully if you got to 
know him better.” 

“ I’m beginning to believe I should. But I’m rather 
afraid I’m being persuaded into it, as usual.” 

“ Give him a real good chance : it’s one of the best 
you can give yourself at present.” 

“ I’ve half a mind to. I don’t mind admitting that I 
had rather a prejudice against him at one time, but I’ve 
been pulled up sharp by the way he behaved over this 
Harding business ; then the other night at the ‘ bumper,’ 
he was put in a damned awful position, and he came out 
of it jolly well. I rather thought he’d break out against 
the authorities, talking sedition with Geoffrey, and all 
that sort of thing.” 

“ It was a stupid business all through, and the best 


A CITY IN THE FOREGROUND i8; 

thing is to let it blow over. ‘CameU was guilty of 
nothing but good nature.” 

They walked on in silence for a little distance. 

“ He’s asked me down to his cottage in the * long/ ” 
said Hugh at last. “ I’m in two minds about accepting.” 

John stopped, and turned to his companion with a 
smile. ** The very thing for you, do come.” 

“ When are you going.” 

“August, about the 6th or yth, it depends on when I 
get back from Belgium.” 

“ If I go at all, I should like to go then too ; that’s to 
say, if you can stand much more of me.” 

“ Don’t be an old fool : it’ll be awfully jolly having 
you there, and you’ll enjoy yourself no end.” 

“ Who else is going to be there ?” 

“Oh, Harold, Charles Dallas, as far as I know, and 
there’ll probably be one or two others as well knocking 
around.” 

“ It’s rather tempting, certainly.” 

“ It’ll do you a world of good, and they’re all people 
you know pretty well.” 

“ Well, I’ll think about it. Come along ! I’ll race 
you to that tree and blow some of this cursed egotism 
out of my system. How I must have bored you ! you’ll 
never want to see me again.” And, shaking himself like 
a dog after a swim, Hugh sprinted off down the road, 
followed at a leisurely pace by the more comfortably 
built John. 

* * % * % 

That evening Hugh wrote to Creighton that he would 
love to come to the cottage on the 8th of August. 


CHAPTER XI 


Hugh was the inevitable product of the circumstances 
in which he had grown up. The circle with which he 
had been familiar from his childhood was one which 
played lightly and easily upon the outskirts of the in- 
tellect. It was cultured and educated, but in that 
traditional habit which prevented rather than assisted 
it to come to grips with the realities of thought and of 
life. The atmosphere of his home was gentle and re- 
fined, it welcomed art and learning, it shut its doors 
firmly against vulgarity, but for the young, unless im- 
pelled by a strength of will greater than Hugh possessed, 
it lacked stimulus. It seemed to him sometimes more 
natural to envy, not those who found every intellectual 
convenience to their hand, but those who, strangers in 
an unsympathetic world, launched their own craft to 
face the difficulties of the open sea. At times he yearned, 
paradoxically enough, for an unsympathetic home, from 
which he might have felt impelled to escape. His sur- 
roundings were too easy, too kindly, too refined, he was 
as though smothered in billows of wool. 

Of his parents he had but a dim memory. His mother 
had died when he was six years old, his father two 
years later. For as long as he could remember he had 
lived with an aunt and uncle, whose devotion had been 
one of the chief embarrassments of his life. Childless 
themselves, they had regarded him from the first as 

i88 


A CITY IN THE FOREGROUND 189 

partly theirs. His mother and his aunt had been twins, 
and after their marriages remained inseparable. Mrs. 
Kenyon’s death would have left her sister inconsolable, 
had it not been that little Hugh was an outlet for all 
the affection which had been showered upon the dead 
woman. He was regarded by his adoptive parents as 
at once a sacred charge and a heaven-sent delight. 
Everything was done for him that could be done. There 
was no lack of money, and the most elaborate arrange- 
ments were made for his education. In nine cases out 
of ten the result would have been a spoilt and thoroughly 
obnoxious child, but with him this particular danger 
was safely weathered, not through the foresight or 
wisdom of his guardians, but owing to the natural 
structure of the boy’s mind. 

Hugh’s father had been a dilettante of means, with 
senses trained more peculiarly perhaps for the detection 
of the false than for the complete understanding of the 
beautiful. For what was “good” in pictures, furniture 
and gems he had an almost uncanny “ flair,” and his 
private collection, the work of a lifetime, was remarkable 
for containing nothing bad, rather than for including 
anything of unusual or surpassing excellence. Upon 
this basis of slightly facile appreciation he had built, in 
the course of time, a theory of narrowly sound and un- 
imaginative aesthetic values, rigorous and inelastic to a 
fault. From all wide experience of life he had held him- 
self strictly aloof, choosing his friends, and finally his 
wife, naturally enough from the circle in which for so 
long he had been accustomed to live. 

Mrs. Kenyon was the daughter of a minor literary 
celebrity, the satisfied possessor of a miniature, though 
even within its limits a rather exaggerated, reputation. 


igo A CITY IN THE FOREGROUND 

The marriage had been a complete success. Few couples 
were more devoted, and their life together pursued 
the refined and eventless course to which each had been 
taught to look for happiness. Marriage brought no new 
influences, no new interests. The routine of their exis- 
tence, with its few duties and its strictly cultured 
pleasures, was in reality as rigidly circumscribed as that 
of the philistine and bourgeois couples whose ideals 
they and their friends affected to despise. They asked 
for no surprises, and found none. The friends who came 
to their house, and to whose houses they were in their 
turn invited, shared to a nicety their likes and dislikes, 
their fads and their prejudices. The circle of their 
acquaintances rapidly assumed the hard outline of a 
caste, each member of which relied upon the approval 
of the whole in all matters of conduct and all affairs of 
taste demanding either praise or condemnation. Personal 
initiative and private judgment were subordinated in 
every case to the sanction of the communal verdict, with 
the result that Hugh found himself born into a dynasty 
of self-appointed rulers in matters of taste and intellect, 
the heir apparent to a choice if formal kingdom. Had 
he been born while his parents were still young, he might 
have been the means of widening their horizon. Their 
prayer for children had, however, remained for long 
unanswered, and it was into an already middle-aged 
household that the boy eventually made his advent. As 
might have been expected, he bore from the first all the 
symptoms of rigorous inbreeding. Like most late 
examples of highly specialised types, he exhibited all 
the tendencies and features of his environment without 
the vigour that had been originally theirs, which a 
long period of cultivation had degraded into an habitual 


A CITY IN THE FOREGROUND 191 

rather than a vital force. The death of his parents had 
produced no change in his mental surroundings. Their 
circle, if small, had been crowded, and the child found 
soon enough that his relations on both sides were 
numerous. Of his own generation there were few with 
whom he could grow up. His early life was spent in 
the midst of uncles, aunts and cousins, all his seniors, 
and all, for lack of other interests, devoted to his welfare 
and success. Of course such a hothouse atmosphere 
was the worst possible for a boy already rendered over- 
sensitive by the circumstances of his birth. Of life, 
beyond the formulae of his circle, he knew absolutely 
nothing. He played with no other children, heard of no 
other ambitions. His mind was carefully tended and 
manured, but it was never allowed to grow along natural 
lines. He was, as might have been expected, precocious, 
but with the overgrown ability of oriental children, 
which promises much in early life, only to stagnate and 
deteriorate in maturity. 

It is only fair to give his guardians credit for what 
common sense they did show. They avoided, miracu- 
lously enough, the pitfalls of a home education, and 
were induced, much against their wills, to send Hugh 
away to school. Here he found little difficulty in master- 
ing the small amount of work with which an excessively 
healthy” and outdoor curriculum thought it necessary 
to burden him. A wiser master would have purposely 
increased his difficulties, and insisted on a stricter 
standard of criticism. As it was, his way was made 
unusually smooth, and from the first his relations 
showered upon him unstinted adulation for his easiest 
triumphs. At thirteen he won a scholarship at Melton, 
and was launched upon his public school career. 


192 A CITY IN THE FOREGROUND 

fully conscious that all at home regarded the brilliance 
of his future career as completely assured. 

When, later, at Oxford, he became accustomed to re- 
view his life with that anxious intensity of analysis and 
introspection which rapidly became his curse, he was 
inclined to blame his guardians in their choice of his 
school. He fancied that if he had been sent to Eton or 
Winchester he might have developed a certainty of 
purpose and outlook, the absence of which was his con- 
stant concern. At Knox he came into habitual touch 
with men from both, and there seemed to him something 
about them which they shared with the products of no 
other public school. In Etonians of ability in particular 
he felt a certain rareness of quality which belonged to 
nobody else. They seemed to have lived in a mellow, 
free atmosphere of scholarship and culture, in which 
education became an enthralling interest rather than a 
specialised occupation. Of course such a generalisation 
was bound to have numerous exceptions. Dozens of 
Etonians he could point to who were as under-educated 
as the most earnest critic of the public school system 
could desire to see, but even in them he fancied he could 
detect a certain maturity of outlook, a widened view of 
the world. These men seemed capable of accepting, and 
even of admiring, those who had attained to a degree of 
learning and culture which was beyond their own slighter 
abilities. About the scholars he had no doubt. Com- 
pared with the most brilliant men from other schools 
they had a completeness, an acuteness of understanding, 
a clearness of outlook, which distinguished them to the 
least critical eye. In this verdict of Hugh’s there was 
no snobbery, it was simply the result of his unprejudiced 
observation. As he put it to himself : “ Clever Etonians 


A CITY IN THE FOREGROUND 193 

and Wykehamists come to Oxford to continue their 
education : men from other schools only too often to 
begin it.” 

At Melton he found that clever boys were viewed 
rather as exceptions who must be cultivated for par- 
ticular purposes, than examples who should set the 
standard. From certain masters they got sympathy 
and help, by the school at large they were more or less 
ignored. It was not that he found the place a com- 
pletely barbarised desert of the kind that some educa- 
tional reformers paint in such lurid colours. Among 
certain boys he found an interest in books and life which 
received some encouragement from the older masters. 
He read a good deal of promiscuous literature and 
history, he discussed with others questions of contem- 
porary life and politics, but somehow the atmosphere 
generally was lacking in something which at the time he 
could not define. Brains were regarded as made essen- 
tially for the winning of scholarships and prizes. There 
was no concentrated vigour of learning. Effort, when 
it appeared, was sporadic, isolated, half-hearted. There 
was no real source of inspiration, and in the slightly 
arid atmosphere the things of the mind seemed liable to 
wither for lack of inspiration. 

Given a certain, not very high, degree of ability, 
academic eminence at the ordinary public school is not 
difficult of attainment. For a boy of Hugh’s temperament 
this state of affairs was distinctly bad. He found success 
easy and yet unsatisfactory. He had a disturbing idea 
(exaggerated probably in the light of his Oxford reflec- 
tions) that he was complete master only of the superficial, 
that he lacked thoroughness, and that no amount of 
school success would give it to him. Even in those days 

13 


194 A CITY IN THE FOREGROUND 

he had a vague suspicion that his point of view in every- 
thing, so far as it was at all definite, was inherited 
rather than personal, that it was not of the stuff to stand 
the strain of wider experience. 

During the holidays he found himself regarded, quite 
simply and without question, as a boy of unusual ability. 
From aunts and uncles he was accustomed to hear the 
most promising forecasts of his future. Nobody, it 
seemed, doubted his powers, and the all-pervading atmo- 
sphere of doting approval rapidly got on his nerves. 
He became moody, rude, distrait, and at home his irrita- 
tion was only increased by the devoted kindness of the 
Ridgeways, who saw in these discontents of their 
adopted son nothing but the symptoms of physical 
growth, which could be alleviated and directed in the 
right way by consultation with the family doctor. Mrs. 
Ridgeway had, in particular, a, to Hugh, most infuriat- 
ing habit of claiming an unlimited understanding of his 
moods, which drove him sometimes to actual incivility. 
She would lay a motherly hand upon his shoulder, and 
say : “ I understand you so well, Hughie : I always 
know just what you are thinking, dear ” ; and when the 
object of her comprehension flung himself out of the 
room as the result of these confidences, she would nod 
her head sagely, and return to the anaemic purity of her 
drawing-room fully satisfied that all was as it should be. 
It was all meant so well, it was so obviously the result 
of the tenderest love, that Hugh cursed himself again 
and again for an ungrateful and heartless beast, but no 
amount of self-condemnation could alter the fact that 
the atmosphere of his home irritated him sometimes to 
the limits of endurance. All the more was this so that 
he felt himself irretrievably the child of his environment. 


A CITY IN THE FOREGROUND 195 

in whose spirit the accumulated force of a multiplicity 
of influences was working inexorably against his 
will. 

At Oxford, whither he went with an exhibition, Hugh 
entered a wider world than he had yet known. Its 
immediate effect was to diminish the satisfaction he 
had felt, naturally enough, despite his increasing discon- 
tents, in his school achievements. Like all intelligent 
young men in their first term at the University, he be- 
came thoroughly unsettled, but with him this eminently 
healthy symptom was prolonged unduly, and threatened 
to turn into a morbid disease. He began to question all 
his certainties, to reconsider all his values, but while he 
exposed himself with enthusiasm to the new influences 
which he found all around him, he could not rid himself 
of the mental inheritance of his home. As he told John 
Delmeage, he had come to Oxford expecting miracles; 
he was ready for anything, but he found nothing. His 
love for the beauties and implications of the place grew 
daily ; scarcely ever did he think of laying upon it the 
blame for his own failures. He accused no one but 
himself for his inability to find his intellectual feet. He 
longed passionately for some steady wind before which 
he might sail in some definite direction, but nothing 
seemed to come his way but a chopping, changeable 
breeze which drove him first this way and then that. 

On Currinor Hill, in the scent and languor of a summer 
afternoon, his doubts and troubles had found at last 
coherent voice. He returned to London in June, not 
perhaps much helped or comforted, but at least with a 
feeling that he had eased some part of the burden which 
had been threatening for some time past to become 
intolerable. 


CHAPTER XII 


The Ridgeways lived in Kensington, neither South, 
North, nor West, but exclusively Kensington. The 
frontiers of this district are decidedly hard to define, 
but it might be described by geographers as bounded 
on the north by the Bayswater Road (bigoted Kensing- 
tonians allow only the southern margin of that thorough- 
fare to be truly enfranchised), on the south by the Old 
Brompton Road, on the west by the eastern end of 
Addison Road Bridge, and on the east — the most doubt- 
ful of all — by, let us say, Ennismore Gardens. Almost in 
the centre of this magic circle (a little withdrawn from, 
and slightly patronising the extreme western purlieus) 
the Kenyons had settled down, after a short honeymoon 
on the Italian lakes, in a real Kensington house of the 
best type (“ Built by Queen Anne, my dear, for one of 
her maids of honour”). In a small square, not five 
minutes distant, the Ridgeways had been already for 
some years established in a smaller house, which, if not 
blessed with a royal pedigree, was at least considered 
worthy of the borough. Scattered here and there about 
the neighbourhood, with one or two outlying posts in 
Knightsbridge, Chelsea, and Notting Hill, lay the 
families which composed the garrison of the Kenyon 
citadel. 

On the death of Hugh’s parents, the Ridgeways had 
moved into the larger house, and the boy had spent his 
childhood and early youth always within the sacred 
precincts of the royal suburb. The “ Gardens ” had been 
his playground, the Seri)entine his sea. Park-keepers 
196 


A CITY IN THE FOREGROUND 


19; 

were the giants of his earliest imaginations, and in the 
dignified old palace dwelt the sleeping beauties of his 
youngest fairy tales. Beyond an occasional visit to the 
Earl’s Court Exhibition or the Egyptian Hall, and an 
annual expedition to Drury Lane, he had for many years 
known little of London proper, though the growing 
wonders of Harrod’s immense emporium occasionally 
drew his fascinated nurse, and later his own adventurous 
person to brave the distant perils of the Brompton Road. 

Surely, no Kensington child who grew up in the early 
days of the twentieth century can ever forget that 
wonderland of magic ! No other shop has ever had a 
history so intimately bound up with children as 
Harrod’s. For Hugh, indeed, the old fascination never 
entirely died. In later life he felt the old sturdy loyalty 
as unshaken as in the days when he had played hide 
and seek about the myriad departments, and dared with 
trembling delight the wonders of the moving staircase. 
No other shop ever exercised the same attraction. Barker’s 
and Derry and Toms’ were poor substitutes, and the 
mushroom growth of Selfridge’s, with its impudent pre- 
tensions, always repelled him. In Harrod’s an altar to 
childhood should have been raised long ago, round 
which the aromatic odours of the groceries and the 
sensuous perfumes of drugs should waft eternal mystery 
and adoration ! 

* * ^ * 

Hugh drove up to No. 12 Palace Crescent late on a 
June afternoon. He found his aunt, as he knew he 
would, awaiting him with an ardour of welcome which 
might with greater propriety have been lavished upon a 
son long exiled to the Southern Seas. She embraced 
him in the hall as though years instead of weeks had 
passed since their last meeting, and beneath the weight 


198 A CITY IN THE FOREGROUND 

of her affection he felt the old irritation surging up and 
rapidly overwhelming the resolutions of patience and 
toleration which he always made during his periodic 
absences. 

How tired you look, dear boy,” she said, as soon as 
speech was possible. “I’m sure you’re overworking. 
You must have a good holiday and forget all about your 
books.” 

“ I must do a lot of work this vac. Aunt Mary,” he 
replied. “ I’ve only got a year to schools now.” 

“Oh, you’ll do splendidly in your examination, 
darling. I’m sure, and it’s so important for you not to 
overwork. Your uncle and I are so proud of you; we 
know how splendidly you’ve done, and what a great 
career you’re going to make for yourself.” 

This speech, repeated with variations at regular in- 
tervals, always drove Hugh to silent desperation. 

“ How is Uncle John ?” he asked, in a courageous 
endeavour to steer the conversation into safer channels. 

“He’s very well, and longing to see you again. He 
thinks it would be so nice for us all to go to Brittany 
this summer, but he must tell you all about that himself.” 

“It sounds jolly, but it will have to be in September. 
I’ve promised Creighton to go and stay with him in 
August for a bit.” 

Mrs. Ridgeway’s face dropped as though Hugh had 
suggested a trip round the world. 

“But you’ll spend some of the time with us, dear?” 
she queried. 

“ Of course I shall.” Hugh found it difficult to keep 
the irritation out of his voice. “ It’ll only be for a week 
or two at most.” 

“ Oh well, we mustn’t be selfish, I suppose,” replied 
Aunt Mary with a brave smile, “though of course we 


A CITY IN THE FOREGROUND 199 

always want to have our dear boy with us. You’ll enjoy 
staying with Mr. Creighton, Fm sure. Is he one of your 
Oxford friends ? I’ve never heard you speak of him,” 

“He’s one of the Knox dons, and he’s getting up a 
small party at his cottage in Surrey.” 

“ That will be nice for you, and of course you must do 
exactly as you like. I don’t a bit mind staying in 
London during August, and then we can all go abroad 
together later.” 

“ Why need you stay here while I’m away ? I’m sure 
it would do you and Uncle John a lot of good to get 
away from me for a bit.” 

“Oh no, darling, we couldn’t bear a holiday without 
you : it wouldn’t seem like a holiday.” 

Hugh said nothing. He felt guiltily that he must be 
perverse beyond the ordinary to let such love and affec- 
tion get on his nerves. Surely, he ought to thank God 
daily for such a devoted home, and yet, try as he would 
to overcome it, there was always a feeling in the recesses 
of his mind that all this affection was smothering him, 
like a warm, well-aired blanket. If only these dear 
people would try to face reality, if only they could 
realise him as a human being, and not as an idealised 
figure of their fancy. 

“But don’t you worry yourself about us, dear,” con- 
tinued his aunt, with the air of a cheerful martyr. 
“ We’re only old fogeys, after all. It is only natural for 
you to want to be with young men of your own age. I 
do understand you so well, darling!” 

Hugh escaped further provocation by saying that he 
must wash and change. 

“ Is anyone coming to dinner ?” he asked from the 
staircase with a sinking heart, well knowing what the 
answer would be. 


200 A CITY IN THE FOREGROUND 

“ Just one or two of the family, dear. TheyTe always 
so anxious to see you as soon as you come home. 
Catherine and Thomas are coming in, and Reginald 
and Rose, and Mr. Goodge 

Hugh did not wait to hear the list completed. He 
knew precisely who was coming without being told. 
Inevitably on the first evening at home the same party 
collected. The family gathering to welcome the re- 
turned wanderer was a ritual that was never relaxed. 
The worship of the clan was so completely systematised 
that no part of dogma in its celebration was overlooked. 
Aunt Catherine would be there of course, as adequate 
and uninspired as one of her own water-colours, provok- 
ing, as they did, the wonder as to why she had ever 
been worth “doing” at all; and Uncle Thomas, dog- 
matic and refined, with the breath of the British 
Museum — where he worked — still about him; Uncle 
Reginald, the returned Indian civilian, voluble on the 
subject of native brasses. Aunt Gloria, too, up from her 
Cotswold cottage to spend June with Catherine in 
London, full of New Thought and old cliches ; and Rose, 
the elderly and distant cousin, fifty if a day, but still 
regarded as essentially one of the “young people” 
suited to his age, deplorably intelligent, and always 
anxious to draw him into “ interesting ” discussions. 
Finally, Mr. Goodge, an old, old friend of the family 
(strangely enough, no individual of it ever admitted to 
having been the first to cultivate him), who slipped into 
every clan gathering, and regarded himself as repre- 
senting the world of life and movement. They would 
all be there, as they had been from time immemorial 
whenever Hugh came home. What a brute he was, what 
a heartless, selfish brute, to criticise so intolerantly when 
he should be so thankful to have about him these ador- 


A CITY IN THE FOREGROUND 


201 


ing, trusting friends and relatives. He would be good 
to-night. If he couldn’t persuade them that their dream 
of him was false, he would try, for a bit, to live up to it. 
At least that was something definite. 

When he descended to the drawing-room the com- 
mittee of welcome was already duly installed. His 
aunts and cousin clustered round him with little chirrups 
of pleasure. His uncle John, whom he had not been able 
to see before dinner, shook him warmly by the hand with 
the remark, hallowed by age, that the house seemed itself 
again now that he was back, it was always so lonely when 
he was away, with only two old fogeys there, etc., etc. 

The word had gone round that he was looking over- 
worked, and variations were accordingly rung on this 
interesting theme. 

“ You’re quite right, my dear,” said Aunt Catherine 
to Aunt Mary, ''he does look tired : quite worn out.” 

“Oh no, really. Aunt Catherine,” Hugh smiled, “I’m 
as fit as a fiddle.” 

“You’re certainly looking a little thin, Hugh,” said 
Rose, with her head critically on one side, and a pro- 
voking air of saying something unusually profound. 

“ Am I ? Well, that’s a good job, I was getting 
monstrously fat !” 

Aunt Mary was duly shocked. 

“ How can you say such a thing, Hughie dear ?” she 
protested. “ You were never fat.” 

“ Well, whatever I look. I’m really very well.” 

“The boy’s all right,” boomed Uncle Reginald, who 
always affected a masculine tone, befitting a once poten- 
tial pro-consul. “ The Oxford climate’s enervating, 
wants bracing, that’s all. Get him into the country, 
John, that’s the place for young men in the summer, 
better than racing round London in this hot weather.” 


202 A CITY IN THE FOREGROUND 

Mr Goodge felt this to be his cue for a little display 
as a man of the world. 

Come, come, Reginald, you must let the young 
fellow have his fling, y’know. Lot of resting we did in 
the vac, eh ?” with a roguish look at the room in general. 
“ Let him give the girls a bit of a chance.” 

Uncle Thomas, who was standing near, drew quickly 
away, with a slight, audible indrawing of the breath. 
What a pity it was that Cuthbert had these lapses of 
taste, so unsuitable in mixed company ! 

Uncle John came ponderously to the rescue of out- 
raged modesty. 

“ Your aunt tells me,” he said, “ that you are going to 
stay with one of your Oxford friends in August, Hugh ; 
that’ll pull you together, I expect, just the thing for you.” 

There was sudden silence at this unexpected hint of 
perfidy on Hugh’s part. Aunt Mary, however, intent on 
maintaining consistently her attitude of brave self- 
sacrifice, hastened to give the lead. 

“ Yes, I’m so glad,” she said briskly. “ It’ll do him 
any amount of good to be with a lot of young men of 
his own age. After all, I fear, we can’t be much company 
for him.” 

Hugh felt it his duty to protest at this; the family, 
now that it was shown what was expected of it, 
murmured general, non-committal assent, and a move 
was made to the dining-room. 

With the soup, Aunt Gloria took up the subject afresh. 

“ Mary tells me,” she began, in distinct tones, “ that 
you are going to stay with one of your Knox dons.” 
She was always careful to employ the correct termin- 
ology in all her references to Oxford. 

“Yes, Aunt Gloria, Mr. Creighton; he’s rather younger 
than the usual run of Oxford fellows.” 


A CITY IN THE FOREGROUND 203 

“ Creighton, Creighton, I don't seem to remember 
hearing of him from Edith Winstanley ” 

Aunt Gloria had been active in providing Hugh with 
introductions to residential Oxford. She had a large 
circle of acquaintances among the non-academic females 
of the city, and cultivated it with vigour. Her admira- 
tion for Mrs. Humphrey Ward was unbounded, and her 
belief in the importance of women of the right sort in 
the University, based on complete ignorance of the actual 
conditions of life there, was one of the favourite articles 
of her social creed. 

“Don’t you find the Winstanleys delightfully stimu- 
lating ?” she continued. “ I knew you’d like them. I 
always tell dear Edith that it is a privilege for any 
young man to have the entree to her house.” 

Hugh felt inclined to answer that his aunt could never 
say so as often or as forcibly as Mrs. Winstanley herself, 
but he fought down the wicked temptation, and con- 
tented himself with a vague reply. 

“ She has been extremely kind to me, I go there quite 
a lot you know.” 

“Oh, but it’s not only her kindness, she has such an 
enormous influence for good on the undergraduates. 
Do you know,” including the whole table in the sweep 
of her eyes, “ I always tell her that she is really the un- 
crowned queen of Oxford,” and she gave a little self- 
congratulatory laugh. 

“ You mustn’t believe all you hear, you know,” 
chuckled Mr. Goodge. “ I don’t expect the young men 
take much count of women folk, I know we didn’t.” 

Aunt Gloria pursed her lips in displeasure at such 
frivolity. 

“ I think,” she said, “ you must allow me to know 
best. I am a constant visitor in Oxford, and my powers 


204 A CITY IN THE FOREGROUND 

of observation are, for a woman,” this rather bitterly, 
“ comparatively good.” 

Uncle Thomas coughed sonorously, and prepared to 
deliver himself of a well-considered judgment, worthy 
of an expert on Mongolian caligraphy. 

“ At the Museum,” he said, “ we have a great deal to 
do with the research activities of the University, and I, 
for my part, find that the Oxford ladies tend to display 
a growing interest in, and to exert a sane and healthy 
influence upon, the work of archaeological investigation.” 

Hugh felt that one of the famous family wrangles was 
threatened and, despite his private feelings of gratitude 
for Mr. Goodge’s gleam of common sense, hastened to 
take the smoother path, and by judicious if uncon- 
scientious surrender to avert the impending danger. 

“Oh, of course Mrs. Winstanley is very active in 
everything connected with the University, especially in 
All Saints, which is her husband’s college. I don’t 
expect, though, that you would have heard much about 
Mr. Creighton from her : I think she is a little pre- 
judiced against him.” 

“I’m sure Edith is never prejudiced without reason,” 
was the solemn if somewhat illogical rejoinder. “I 
hope this Mr. Creighton is a nice young man, Hugh 
dear ?” 

“Very nice, and most hospitable.” 

With this, much to Hugh’s relief, the subject was 
allowed to lapse, and the conversation drifted into other 
channels. Above the clatter of dishes he heard Aunt 
Gloria, undaunted as ever, telling Aunt Catherine of a 
revival of Morris dancing which had been recently 
started near Westing Bourton by a party of folk-song 
enthusiasts. She found it, she said, “ most sacramental.” 

Under cover of the discussion that followed. Rose 


A CITY IN THE FOREGROUND 205 

began to engage Hugh in a more personal conversa- 
tion. 

“I do so envy you, Hugh, you know, with all your 
opportunities for reading and discussion. There are so 
many things to think about just now if one is interested 
in ideas.” 

“No more than at most times, are there ?” he replied 
sententiously. For the life of him, he could never think 
of anything to reply to his elderly cousin’s intense utter- 
ances, which always had the effect of embarrassing him. 

“ Oh, yes, many more ! The whole world seems 
turned topsy-turvey : one really doesn’t know where to 
turn. Well, well, I suppose I must be satisfied with re- 
maining ‘ old-fashioned.’ ” This she proclaimed with an 
air of producing a gem of brilliant criticism, a habit of 
hers which always irritated him intensely. “Look at 
all these new artists. I went to a picture show at the 
Goupil the other day, and really I didn’t know whether 
I was standing on my head or my heels. Do tell me 
about them, surely you can’t approve ?” 

“ I don’t think it’s a question for approval or dis- 
approval — yet : I’m extremely interested in them.” 

“ But, Hugh, one must have a standard.” 

“ Certainl)^, but not before one has tried to grasp the 
standard of the people one is criticising.” 

“ But they seem to have no standard at all.” 

“ That’s because it isn’t your standard.” 

“There was a thing there, all hard black lines with 
the perspective gone wrong. I’m sure the artist couldn’t 
have seen things like that !” 

“ Perhaps he wasn’t trying to paint what he saw.” 

“ Oh, but it’s so decadent!' 

“That depends on what you mean by decadent, 
doesn’t it ? It’s a horribly abused word, anyhow.” 


2o6 a city in the foreground 

“ I can’t be so broad minded as you. I’m certain one 
can be too broad minded. It’s like having all the doors 
and windows open at once,” and she gave a superior smile 
at her own wit. 

“No one can be too broad minded. It’s better to have 
a house draughty than stuffy.’* 

“ Oh, that’s not you speaking, it’s Oxford ! Hugh, 
you’re getting the Oxford manner. You know you don’t 
believe a word you say !” 

The undoubted truth of her comment only increased 
his irritation. He loathed, beyond words, being told 
that he didn’t believe what he said. It was all part of 
the family creed of “complete understanding.” Why 
was it that whenever he met Rose he was driven head- 
long to contradict everything that she said ? to launch 
the most perverse theories, to speak against all his own 
convictions ? She was quite right he didrit believe what 
he was saying. Only two weeks ago he had gone to 
the trouble of telling John Delmeage almost word for 
word what she had just told him, and yet, such was the 
influence of the family upon him, he could not help 
attacking her views, no matter how sound he might 
secretly think them. 

“ Of course,” continued Rose : “ I’m not a painter, and 
perhaps I oughtn’t to speak about these things, but you 
will admit that Aunt Catherine knows something about 
them ?” 

“Are you talking about me, dear?” questioned that 
lady from across the table. 

“ Hugh is trying to defend modern painting. Aunt 
Catherine, do please come to my rescue. I’m not nearly 
clever enough to argue with him alone.” 

“ Not trying to defend it at all,” he interposed, with 


A CITY IN THE FOREGROUND 20; 

a ghastly feeling of cowardice, “ merely pleading for fair 
criticism.” 

“ I see no reason to discuss charlatans fairly,” replied 
Aunt Catherine. 

That’s just what I tell him,” said Rose. 

“ Isn’t it rather unfair to call them all charlatans, 
without exception ?” 

Rose was not to be beaten. “ It’s such a pose, Hugh,” 
she objected, “ it’s so artificial.” 

“ What would you have art be if not artificial ?” 

“ Oh, but not in that way.” 

“ Surely art is holy, Hugh ?” suggested Aunt Catherine 
in a colourless voice, “ it should give us beauty and make 
us better. What little gift I have, I regard as a sacred 
trust.” 

There was a murmur of sympathy and encouragement 
from the assembled family at this charming sentiment. 

“ Mr. Courthope, I know, agrees with me,” she went 
on, “ and he’s an R A.” 

To this argument no reply seemed possible, and 
Uncle Thomas, who could not bear to be left for long 
out of any conversation, clinched the matter to his own 
satisfaction by saying loudly: “It’s all thoroughly un- 
healthy nonsense : the less said about it the better !” 

Hugh made one more despairing effort. 

“Great art hasn’t always been remarkable for its 
healthiness surely,” he ventured. “ Isn’t some Indian art 
rather morbid ?” and he threw a pleading glance at his 
slightly more human Uncle Reginald. 

“Well, I don’t know whether I go quite so far as 

that ” Uncle Reginald began, but he was not allowed 

to finish his sentence. Before he could bring the full 
force of his specialist knowledge to bear on the question, 
Aunt Gloria took up the argument. 


2o8 a city in the foreground 


“ I can see nothing but evil,” she said, “ in Europeans, 
with their grand and noble Christian traditions, adopt- 
ing the exotic formulas of a worn-out Eastern civilisa- 
tion” 

At this point Mr. Goodge, who had been husbanding 
his resources, saw a chance of introducing his favourite 
subject, and dashed for the opening before it could be 
closed. 

“I don’t know what’s coming to the world,” he said. 
“All this morbidness, this desire to truckle to every 
neurasthenic whipper-snapper. Look at our poli- 
ticians!” (“Now we’re in for it,” thought Hugh, and 
resigned himself to the inevitable.) “No one worth call- 
ing a man except Carson; he at least knows what he 
wants, he’s got a definite aim, he doesn’t go about 
hedging. Government, indeed ! A parody, a bundle 
of little underbred tradesmen, frightened of everything 
except dishonesty. The country’s getting out of hand, 
there is no government. What’s all this talk of strikes 
and industrial unrest? Of course there’ll be unrest so 
long as Asquith lets every wretched self-seeking agitator 
hold a pistol to his head I What we want is a good 
war, that’d bring people to their senses I” 

In his heart of hearts Hugh wondered how the pistol 
of labour differed in essential design from that of Ulster, 
but he knew of old that interference in the flow of these 
tirades produced nothing but ill-temper, and he main- 
tained a wary silence. 

Mr. Goodge continued, sweeping all before him. The 
family made no attempt to dam the tide. They let it 
take its own course, so well-worn by this time that every 
turn and twist, every rapid, every stagnant pool, was 
known and charted. From general invective against 
the Government as a whole the speaker passed with relish 


A CITY IN THE FOREGROUND 209 

and increasing violence to personal anecdote of a more 
or less scandalous nature, involving the honour and 
sobriety of each particular minister. He even allowed 
himself to question their chastity, but not until after the 
withdrawal of the ladies, which took place almost un- 
noticed, under cover of one of his most sulphurous 
periods. 

“ I heard a really capital story about Lloyd George 
the other day. Ha ! ha ! ha ! Just like the little 
snivelling attorney to take his pleasure meanly — pass 
the port, Hugh — well, it appears that the police raided 
a large manicure establishment in Conduit Street the 
other day, and they found a book. . . .” And so on, 
and so on. 

Uncle Reginald ventured a mild protest. 

“ Of course, Cuthbert, one can’t believe every bit of 
scandal, public men are fair game, I suppose. I re- 
member in India in ’94 ” 

“ Nonsense, Reginald ; there’s no smoke without fire ; 
why, it’s well known that old * Squith ’ never attends a 
Cabinet meeting without a bottle of Perrier Jouet.” 

If anyone had attempted thus to denigrate his own 
particular idols, Mr. Goodge would have heaped scorn 
and indignation on his head. But nothing was too bad 
or too improbable to believe about the private lives of 
Liberal ministers. For a man of some ability, and pre- 
sumably some fairness of mind (he had once been a 
London magistrate), it was amazing with what facility 
and gusto he confused criticism of policy with that of 
conduct. 

Uncle John, meanwhile, smiled contentedly and said 
nothing. By means of this manoeuvre, the value of 
which he had long ago been acute enough to discover, 

14 


210 A CITY IN THE FOREGROUND 

he passed in his family for something of an oracle. It 
was a tradition of long standing that he said little but 
observed much. About his silence there could be no 
doubt ; his power of observation was not so certain. All 
that really mattered was that he believed implicitly in 
the family, and consequently in the Tory party. Uncle 
Reginald, however, was suspected of Liberal tendencies, 
and was a cause of some anxiety to his brothers and 
sisters. They feared his influence on Hugh. To an 
unprejudiced mind his revolutionary leanings would 
have appeared somewhat mild, much in the way that the 
doctrines of certain eighteenth century philosophers, 
held to be monstrously atheistical by their contem- 
poraries, strike the easier conscience of a later generation. 

Hugh too sat still and said nothing. His feeling of 
irritation began to give way to one of frank boredom. 
The conversation, or rather the monologue, was intermin- 
able. He had heard it all a thousand times, and would 
hear it again, no doubt, at every family gathering for 
years to come. The trouble, he felt, was not that he re- 
acted too violently from his relations, but that he did not 
react enough. The more impatient he became with his 
uncles and aunts, the more conscious he was of the same 
poison in his own veins. He had no sure basis. He 
was simply a mass of second-hand thoughts. Here at 
home he might reflect Oxford out of sheer perversity, 
but at Knox he knew perfectly well that he would reflect 
much of the atmosphere of 12 Palace Crescent. Was 
ever a man so saddled with a heritage ? He had not 
even the satisfaction of a transmitted vice, like alcohol- 
ism, he got nothing from his forbears but a vague, 
irritating, unsettling state of mind. If only he could be 
wholeheartedly with his family, or wholeheartedly 
against it ! At times he felt that nothing would ever 


211 


A CITY IN THE FOREGROUND 

give him a real personality. If, earlier, he had been 
violently transplanted, he might have had a chance; 
but, as it was, he would be that saddest of things, a 
victim of uncritical affection, a man killed with kind- 
ness. He was drifting perilously near to self-pity ! 

At length Uncle Reginald caught his eye, and a look 
of understanding passed between them. They rose. 

“ Don’t you think, John, we had better make a move ?” 
suggested the Indian civilian, “ the servants want to 
clear away, and we’ve been sitting for the devil of a time.” 

They moved towards the drawing-room, but even so 
Mr. Goodge lagged behind to tell Uncle Thomas his 
very latest tittle of gossip. 

The rest of the evening was passed in the fashion 
approved by long usage. Rose sang a few ballads in a 
rather faded voice, which the assembly pronounced 
magnificent. 

“ Really, my dear, you ought to have it trained.” 

“ I’m afraid it’s too late for that : I’m not a chicken, 
you know ! ” 

“Nonsense!” Mr. Goodge retorted, gallant after his 
late outburst. “A pretty woman is always young.” 

At the special request of Aunt Gloria, she ventured 
on some folk-songs, which were received rapturously, 
and declared to be thoroughly wholesome and English, 
despite the fact that most of them were built upon 
themes of incredible indecency, which passed apparently 
unnoticed by the cultured ears of the audience. Uncle 
John was still silent. Uncle Thomas mildly approving. 
Uncle Reginald tolerant, and Mr. Goodge voluble. The 
aunts discussed their friends with rancour, and their 
enemies with delight. All was as it should be, and at 
half-past ten the guests dispersed in taxicabs to their 
various Kensington homes. 


CHAPTER XIII 


“ Hughie dear,” said Aunt Mary at breakfast two days 
later, “you know it’s Rose’s birthday on the 26th.” 

“ By Jove ! so it is. I’d quite forgotten it.” 

“Oh well dear, of course you can’t remember every- 
thing, especially when you’re so busy.” 

“ But I ought to have done, I hate forgetting things 
like that.” 

“ Never mind, darling, I didn’t mean to disturb you, 
I only mentioned it because Gloria has asked us all to 
go to the theatre with her in the evening, isn’t it kind 
of her ?” 

It was kind, Hugh told himself a dozen times, but 
flog himself as he might he could not rouse himself to 
any very violent display of enthusiasm. He had pain- 
ful memories of the family at the play ; it was much like 
the family elsewhere, with the added discomfort of 
publicity to make him feel ashamed of his relations, and 
to hate himself for feeling ashamed. 

“ We’re all to dine together at the Pall Mall first,” 
continued his aunt. “I’m afraid it’ll be rather a dull 
evening for you, with so many old people.” 

“ What nonsense Aunt Mary ! ” he was conscious of 
a sudden pang of remorse. He would have liked to 
have kissed his aunt suddenly, but self-consciousness 
kept him from any such demonstration : still, he ought 
to kiss her, it was expected — no ! that was detestable, 
212 


A CITY IN THE FOREGROUND 213 

just a pose, anyhow he couldn’t. “Of course I shall 
love it,” he ended lamely. 

“ I suppose it’s no good asking you to come, 
Thomas ?” 

“ Not unless this cold of mine is better, dear, which it 
won’t be. I should only be a nuisance to myself and to 
everybody else.” 

On the evening of the 26th Uncle Thomas’s cold was 
as bad as ever, and Hugh, full of good resolutions, and 
with much assumption of gaiety led forth his aunt to 
what a casual listener to the conversation would have 
gathered was to be an evening of uproarious revelry. 
It was typical of Aunt Gloria to have chosen the Pall 
Mall. Its chaste halls, redolent of South Kensington 
in an abandoned mood, represented for her just that 
degree of frivolity which she could with dignity admit. 
There was no vulgar band to torture her cultivated ear, 
and from the aloofness of a corner table (upon which un- 
doubtedly she would insist) she could criticise with dis- 
approval, but not with too violent a sense of shock, the 
manners, persons, and dresses of her fellow diners. 
It was still more typical of her to be awaiting them 
majestically in the lounge. They were not late accord- 
ing to the strict evidence of clocks, but to be “ after ” 
Aunt Gloria was always to be late technically, and the 
slight feeling of grievance which she so obviously drew 
from the strict observance of this family tradition added 
quite visibly to her enjoyment of the evening. 

Aunt Mary was immediately all fuss. 

“ My dear Gloria,” she said, “ I’m afraid we’ve kept 
you waiting.” 

“ It’s of no consequence at all, Mary dear. We’re all 
here now I think, Mr. Heming has gone to look for the 


214 A CITY IN THE FOREGROUND 

table ; shall we go in ?” And so was administered at 
once rebuff and pardon. 

Rose, in honour of her birthday, was younger and 
gayer than ever. 

“ Isn’t this jun Hugh ?” she laughed. “ I do love 
restaurants, they make me feel so wicked!” The table 
cloths and curtains of the respectable establishment 
seemed to shudder at the gross insinuation, and the 
shaded lamps, too modest to be called “ discreet,” 
appeared to blink in sympathy. 

The Rev. Aloysius Fleming, who awaited them at their 
table, was a particular bHe noire of Hugh’s. An undis- 
tinguished university career, followed by a course at 
Pusey House, where he had imbibed much ritual but 
little theology, had contrived to land him, at the early 
age of twenty-five, in the picturesque embraces of the 
Higher Anglican Communion. His father, a dissenting 
parson of sporting instincts had christened him Bertie, 
but admission into the fold of the English “ Cartholics ” 
seemed to demand a more ecclesiastical prenomen, and 
he had elected to be called Aloysius in the hope that 
the change would persuade the casual, more surely than 
his intellectual achievements could hope to do, that he 
was really carrying on the traditions of the Oxford 
movement. The height of his collar had grown, in pro- 
portion to that of his tenets, and it was now so 
stupendous and so white, that its removal, even in the 
privacy of his chamber, was unthinkable. Its gloss and 
starchiness renewed itself, presumably, like the vigour 
of his body, during sleep. Aunt Gloria, in her heart of 
hearts, coupled his name with that of Mrs. Winstanley, 
as representing all that really “ mattered ” in con- 
temporary Oxford. 


A CITY IN THE FOREGROUND 215 

“ You know Mr. Heming, Hugh, don’t you ?” she 
asked, as they began their meal. “ It was so kind of you 
to come to-night,” she continued to her protege, “I 
thought it would be nice for my nephew to have another 
Oxonian with whom he might compare notes, but I was 
a little shy about asking you to such a worldly enter- 
tainment.” 

The Rev. Aloysius smiled wanly : " The Church, dear 
lady, considers it the duty of its ministers to keep in 
touch with modern developments; I flatter myself that 
I can share the pleasures as well as the sorrows of the 
world.” 

“Ah, but then you are so tolerant and wide-minded, 
Mr. Heming.” 

“ Now Aunt Gloria you mustn’t talk about tolerance 1” 
giggled Rose, with dreadful facetiousness : “ Hugh and 
I always quarrel about that don’t we?” 

Hugh fought down his natural inclinations with a 
violent effort. 

“ I hope we shan’t quarrel about anything to-night,” 
he replied. 

“Quarrel ! Hughie dear,” said Aunt Mary, “of course 
you won’t, why I don’t believe you could quarrel, darling !” 

“Don’t be too sure, Aunt Mary,” continued the irre- 
pressible Rose, “you know we’re going to see the 
Russian Ballet, and that’s so modern that I’m sure Hugh 
and I are bound to disagree. You must explain it to 
me Hugh, I’m quite humble you know, and very, very 
anxious to learn.” 

The Rev. Aloysius was startled suddenly into life by 
the appearance of a waiter at his elbow. “ Er, no wine, 
thank you,” with an accusing look, “ I wish to order half 
of a bottle of Vichy water.” 


2i6 a city in the foreground 

Rose looked roguish : “ Now I think that’s very un- 
gallant of you Mr. Homing, you ought to drink my 
birthday health and its very unlucky to do it in water.” 

“Oh, but not in mineral water, dear young lady, not 
in mineral water.” In reply to which joke all present 
dutifully laughed, with the exception of Aunt Gloria, 
who smiled with superior but kindly tolerance. 

Hugh felt that he was being rather too noticeably 
silent, and bravely fought his way through the gloom 
that was fast smothering him. “Are we really going 
to the Russian Ballet?” he asked. “What are they 
giving ?” 

Aunt Gloria looked suddenly anxious. “ I quite 
forgot to enquire — how foolish of me ; I trust,” in a lower 
voice to Aunt Mary, “ I trust it will be ?” 

Hugh struggled hard against his desire to say some- 
thing outrageous. It was peculiarly irritating that all 
his uncles and aunts regarded him as too young to be 
exposed to contact with the “ facts ” of life. 

“ Well, whatever it is it’ll be charming,” he replied. 
“ I’m sure we shan’t disagree over the ballet. Rose, it’s 
simply delightful.” 

“ I’m sure I shall think it decadent !” 

“Oh, but that’s sheer nonsense ” 

“There you are, we’ve started already !” 

Aunt Mary smiled assurance at her sister. 

“ Oh, she said, it’s sure to be all right, especially if you 
got the tickets from Keith Browse, they’re so reliable !” 

Aunt Gloria, pulling herself together to face the in- 
evitable, sighed patiently. “Well,” she murmured, “I 
trust so, indeed. Perhaps I was a little hasty, but I am so 
devoted to dancing that I never thought there could be 
any danger in the performance. We are reviving so many 


A CITY IN THE FOREGROUND 217 

of the old country steps in Gloucestershire,” she added 
turning to Mr. Homing, “ so delightful you know, and so 
significant. As I told the vicar only a week or two ago, 
I should so like to see them done in our churches.” 

Mr. Homing thus encouraged, felt that the time had 
come to embark upon his favourite subject. He cleared 
his throat and prepared to devpte his attention to his 
hostess. “ Ah, what a thousand pities it is,” he began, 
“that everybody is not so wide-minded as you. We in 
Oxford try so hard, and yet it is discouraging, is not it, 
to find all about us the crass indifference or the fanatical 
opposition of our contemporaries. We are so anxious to 
make a living influence of English Catholicism, to make 
of our churches springs of beauty and joy for the people.” 

“ I always think Roman Catholicism is so picturesque,” 
remarked Aunt Mary, who felt that she was being left 
out of the conversation. 

“ Mr. Homing is not suggesting any rapprochment 
with Rome ! Mary dear.” Aunt Gloria spoke quite 
sharply in her desire to correct any erroneous ideas that 
her sister might entertain. 

“ Indeed not !” continued Mr. Heming, “ Catholicism 
is to me strictly English. That is a subject upon which 
Oxford has much to say at present, as no doubt your 
nephew has often explained to you.” 

Aunt Mary smiled happily, “Oh, of course Hugh 
knows, Tm sure; you must tell your stupid old aunt all 
about it some time, darling.” 

It was Rose’s turn to look intelligent. “ Oh, Hugh,” 
she said, “you never told me you were interested in 
church reform. Perhaps you thought we should dis- 
agree over it !” 

“ I’m not,” Hugh whispered, “ but I should certainly go 


2i8 a city in the foreground 

to church oftener if I thought there was a chance of see- 
ing Heming performing a Morris or a Galliard in the 
chancel.” 

Rose choked a delighted giggle. “Oh, how wicked 
you are, Hugh ! I’m sure he’s most sincere.” 

Mr. Heming, once started on his pet subject was diffi- 
cult to stop, and the dinner ended to the sound of his 
fervent exhortation. Hugh, from the depths of his 
fathomless depression, was inclined to thank anybody 
for monopolising the conversation. 

By the time that they reached the theatre the Rev. 
Aloysius was so elated by his consciousness of intel- 
lectual pre-eminence that he led the way into the dress- 
circle as though leading, with his acolytes, an Easter- 
tide procession. Before taking his seat he glanced 
portentously round the building, and fixed his eyes so 
solemnly upon the stage that for a moment Hugh almost 
expected to see him genuflect. Aunt Gloria, her head 
swathed in black lace, had sufficiently the air of a mother 
superior to complete the illusion of ecclesiastical ritual. 
The rest of the party, compared with these two, seemed 
insignificant. Aunt Mary was cowed and silent, and 
Rose seemed, for the time being, almost human. As 
soon as they were seated Aloysius, who had bought a 
programme with the gesture of a priest administering 
the sacrament, cleared his throat and read out, 
sonorously, and to the considerable annoyance of his 
neighbours, the details of the ballets to be performed. 
Hugh, as he listened, felt a cold shudder of anticipation 
down his spine. Why, oh, why had Fate ordained 
for such an evening so unsuitable a programme ? 
“ Scheherezade,” “ L’Apres-Midi d’un F aun,” “ Jeux,” 
with, only as a finale if indeed his aunts would endure 


A CITY IN THE FOREGROUND 219 

so long the outrage to their feelings, the comparatively 
modest Sylphides !” Already he could feel the cur- 
rent of disapproval charging the atmosphere around 
him. The poor Aloysius had, in all innocence, started 
to read out the synopsis of “ Scheherezade,” but after 
the first few lines he had coughed in embarrassment, 
stammered, stopped, and having completed in silence 
his perusal of the “ story,” had handed the programme 
without a word to Aunt Gloria. 

Rose made an attempt to retrieve the situation by 
skittishness. “How exciting it all sounds,” she said, 
attempting in vain to restore to its place a wisp of 
greyish hair, “ but I’m sure its dreadfully modern. You 
will explain it to me, Hugh dear, won’t you. You must 
be patient with me you know, because I’m terribly old- 
fashioned.” 

Hugh groaned inwardly, not only at the thought of 
the ordeal that awaited him, but because the art of 
MM. Bakst and Nijinsky had won him to a degree of 
idolisation all the more violent because it was rare for 
him ever to give himself unthinkingly to enthusiasm. 
He really did in this new, exotic, entrancing atmosphere 
of the ballet lose all sense of discontent and criticism, 
and the prospect of his family’s disapproval was almost 
unbearable. 

As a matter of fact “ Scheherezade ” had the im- 
mediate effect of reducing Aunt Gloria and Aunt Mary 
to silence, Aloysius to incoherent groanings, and Rose to 
laughing protests, in the midst of which, as they 
seemed to demand little in the way of reply, Hugh 
escaped for a quiet cigarette. 

In the foyer he met a member of the Congreve with 
whom, at Oxford, he was on but the barest nodding 


220 A CITY IN THE FOREGROUND 

terms. Under the joint influence of the ballet and the 
family, however, he greeted him with real enthusiasm, 
and for ten minutes relieved his mind to sympathetic 
ears. In his anxiety to avoid any intimate conversa- 
tions with Rose upon the subject of the Russian theatre 
he delayed his return until the whirring insistence of 
the electric bell drove him back to his seat. As it was, 
the lights were already turned down, and his ill-temper 
was not improved by the chorus of “ hushes ” and the 
indignant murmurs by which he was enveloped as he 
stumbled to his place. His feeling of acute embarrass- 
ment was solaced, however, by the realisation that Rose 
would leave him alone for another quarter of an hour. 
The members of his family had the excellent habit, for 
which he thanked heaven, of keeping quiet at a public 
entertainment, not from any desire to add to the 
pleasures or comfort of their neighbours, but because ill- 
bred whispering would have the undesirable effect of 
drawing public attention to them. Consequently Hugh 
could yield himself undisturbed to the seduction of the 
De Bussy lyric, and forget in the magic of that all too 
short interlude the threat that hung over him. At the 
end of the encore which the rapturous audience de- 
manded, the dreaded storm burst. 

Aunt Mary turned innocently to the Rev. Aloysius. 

What do you think of it, Mr. Heming ?” she asked, 
for want of something better to say. 

Still staring fixedly before him he replied in low, 
penetrating tones : “ Under the circumstances, Mrs. 
Ridgeway, I prefer not to think.” 

For some time past Aunt Mary had been trying to cul- 
tivate a certain breadth of view. She felt that by doing 
so she could be more of a companion for darling Hugh. 


221 


A CITY IN THE FOREGROUND 

“ Of course,” she sighed, “ it’s not what we’re used to.” 
Aloysius was not to be placated. “I trust I shall 
never become used to such exhibitions,” he said. 

Rose, undaunted by the unwillingness of the Church 
to start an argument, turned her ancient batteries on to 
her unfortunate neighbour. 

“Now, Hugh, you carit say you liked that,” she de- 
manded, with a bright bird-like movement of her head. 

Hugh was startled by his annoyance into an un- 
wonted clarity of statement. “ I consider ‘ L’Apres- 
Midi,’ one of the most beautiful things I have ever 
seen,” he answered with perfect sincerity. 

“Oh, but you can't mean that, why it’s hideous, and 
so — so — evil!" 

“My dear Rose, don’t talk rubbish,” he snapped, in 
so hostile a tone that she broke off the engagement 
hurriedly, while he busied himself in his programme. 

All this while Aunt Gloria had remained mute, but 
not inglorious. She sat in dignified silence and 
glared upon the auditorium like an offended deity. 
Suddenly she seemed to come to a decision. With a 
quick movement she collected her shawl, threw it over 
her head and half rose in her seat. 

“ I cannot see that any purpose will be served by 
our witnessing the continuance of this disgusting per- 
formance,” she said. “ Perhaps, Hugh, you will be good 
enough to find a cab.” 

“But Aunt Gloria, you must wait for the “ Sylphides ” 
— you’ll love that" 

“If I overheard correctly your remarks to Rose upon 
the subject of what we have already seen, I do not feel 
inclined to trust your judgment as to the kind of enter- 
tainment calculated to give me pleasure.” 


222 A CITY IN THE FOREGROUND 

« But really ” 

“ Naturally, I cannot force you to go, you are your 
own master, but Rose and I shall leave immediately.” 

Aunt Mary fluttered with much whisperings at Hughes 
ear. come, darling; Gloria will be so offended 

otherwise; besides, it isn^t as though you hadn’t seen it 
before.” With which fine contribution to aesthetic 
philosophy she closed her efforts at mediation. 

Hugh was in a furious temper, but habit drove him 
to surrender, and he pushed out of his seat cursing in- 
wardly the lack of character and determination which 
made him obey his aunt so ignominiously. 

In the cab the tension was, if possible, increased by 
the Rev. Aloysius, who behaved as though everybody 
present, and Aunt Gloria in particular, was suffering 
from a peculiarly painful bereavement, the effects of 
which it was his priestly duty to alleviate with 
murmured comfort and sympathetic looks. 

For some time Aunt Gloria could not trust herself 
to voice her indignation, but at length words burst 
from her. 

It does not surprise me,” she said, “ that Russians 
should have no moral code, but that an English audience 
should find pleasure in such indecency appals me. The 
countrymen of Shakespeare !” she concluded with fine 
inconsequence. 

Hugh had yielded once, but now he was out for 
blood. 

“ I think Shakespeare would have enjoyed ‘ Schehere- 
zade ’ enormously,” he said. 

There was a horrified “ Oh !” from Rose, and a sharp 
indrawing of breath from Aloysius. Aunt Mary was 
asleep. 


A CITY IN THE FOREGROUND 223 

“When I was young,” said Aunt Gloria, with biting 
sarcasm, “ I was taught to believe that Shakespeare 
wrote beautiful poetry. Perhaps that view is old- 
fashioned, but at least he was wholesome.” 

“ He wrote ‘ Othello,* ‘ Troilus,* and the Sonnets,** 
Hugh retorted. 

Rose had her cue at last. “ Oh ! but that’s so 
different, Hugh,” she murmured. 

To this there seemed no possible reply, and Hugh 
relapsed into a moody silence. Aunt Gloria, however, 
though she had been late in starting her attack, was 
determined to have the last word. 

“ I dislike the attitude that you have taken up, Hugh,” 
she said; “Oxford appears to be having an evil effect 
upon you. I see now that Edith Winstanley was right, 
as she always is, and I owe her an apology for doubting 
her wisdom even for a moment. If you are encouraged 
in your outrageous views by Mr. Creighton I can under- 
stand easily enough why Edith is what you so character- 
istically call ‘prejudiced.* ** 

She relapsed into silence. Hugh sulked, Aloysius 
sympathised. Rose, remembering suddenly that it was 
her birthday, sighed, and Aunt Mary slept. Meanwhile 
the cab, after wandering aimlessly about the streets of 
Kensington, turned finally into Palace Crescent. 


CHAPTER XIV 


By pleading work, Hugh managed, during the greater 
part of July, to see as little of his family as possible, 
with the result that his aunt and uncle shook their heads 
over him and prophesied disasters from overstrain. At 
last August came and, with a real feeling of relief at 
getting away from the used-up air of the London streets, 
he set out for Surrey. 

At Farnham he was met by Creighton and, in a sense, 
by John, who had arrived by the same train, fresh from 
Brussels and brimming with enthusiasm for Dutch 
canals, German towns and Belgian primitives. 

It was decided that the luggage should be sent up by 
the carrier’s cart, while they walked the two or three 
miles to the cottage. At first Hugh felt oddly shy, but 
as they left the town behind them and stepped out along 
the heather-bordered road, white with dust and sweet 
with pine scent, he found the first awkwardness wearing 
off, and before they had covered a mile he was listen- 
ing with pleasure to his companions’ conversation, 
throwing in here and there a remark of his own, with all 
the ease of comfortable intimacy. 

“ By the by, I hope you’ve brought some books with 
you,” said Creighton, turning to him with a smile. 
“ Nominally, we keep to a strict programme of work, 
though, as a matter of fact, the weather has been so 
gorgeous this last day or two that we have cut it down 
rather shamefully to an hour or so after tea.” 

224 


A CITY IN THE FOREGROUND 225 

“ Don’t be a slave driver,” laughed John. “ It doesn’t 
suit you. Please remember that I’m taking a well- 
earned holiday after schools. Even the Continent 
hasn’t quite taken away the taste of my two hours viva, 
and I’ve got to brace myself for the fatal telegram ! No 
work for me !” 

“ Poor old John ! did they give you two hours of it ?” 

“Solid! and on the hottest day in July. They had 
the decency to let me off for lunch, and I had a dry 
shampoo instead, to soothe my shattered nerves. That 
fellow from Oriel gave me a hideous time with ‘ Magna 
Carta ’ — what a devil he is for finding out weak spots.” 

“ Two hours is an honour ; it means that they’re taking 
you seriously.” 

“ Too seriously, ‘ Camel ’ : I don’t like being in the 
limelight, it’s unnerving.” 

“Well, we’re a restful lot down here : you both know 
everybody, I think. Harold came yesterday, Tom 
Vincent’s been with me for the last week, and Charles 
should arrive some time this afternoon, I believe, though 
he hasn’t let me know what time his train gets in. He’s 
got a cross-country journey, or I should have expected 
him with you.” 

“Who’s Vincent?” asked Hugh. “I don’t think I 
know him.” 

“ Haven’t you ever met him in my rooms ? He’s quite 
a character, a good fellow, isn’t he, John ?” 

“Old Tom — rather ! One of the best.” 

“Went down in 1911, passed very high in the Civil, 
and has got a good job at the Admiralty.” 

“Is that the lot ?” 

“ Yes, Geoffrey and Cyril were here until yesterday, 
but they’ve gone to Scotland. Geoffrey was in great 

15 


226 A CITY IN THE FOREGROUND 

form, but he found Surrey a little tame, Tm afraid. He’s 
too full of energy for the home counties.” 

There was a few minutes’ silence. 

“ How did you find that hotel I told you of at Bruges, 
John ?” asked Creighton suddenly. 

“Excellent, and dirt cheap. I owe you a debt of 
gratitude.” 

“I haven’t been there for six or seven years, but it 
used to be first-rate.” 

“ I wish I’d stayed there longer, but I felt restless, and 
went further than I originally intended.” 

“ How did you like your German trip ?” 

“ Pretty fair ; nothing like so good as Belgium though 
— except for the Primitive in Cologne Cathedral, gor- 
geous ! My dear * Camel,’ worth a pilgrimage in itself ! 
And what a place to find it ! Talk about a gem in a 
pinchbeck setting, mountains of 1841 Gothic, roman- 
ticism, the whole bag of tricks, and then that picture ! 
There was a silly old guide who tried to get me to look 
at the bones of St. Ursula and her retinue of virgins, but 
I wasn’t taking any.” 

“ Didn’t you get further than the Rhine ?” 

“Oh, yes, but not as far as I wanted. I meant to go 
through to Munich, but I only got as far as Nuremberg.” 

“ Did you have a look at Rothenburg ?” 

“ Just for a day, but, honestly, I found it rather cloy- 
ing : too much like the late Sir Henry Irving’s idea of 
^ Faust.’ I like the modern towns though, and the 
picture galleries are pretty good too.” 

“I once spent a whole summer in Rothenburg,” said 
Creighton ; “ it’s a delightful place when you get to 
know it.” 

“You’re such an incorrigible sentimentalist, ‘ Camel.’ 


227 


A CITY IN THE FOREGROUND 

When I want walled towns I prefer them in Diirer draw- 
ings. They were alive to him, and they’re only alive 
to us through him. In actual fact they’re as dead as 
mutton : I felt like a walking corpse.” 

“ Hark to the modernist ! Do you know Germany at 
all, Hugh ?” 

“ No, but I’m going to Bayreuth next year, I hope.” 

“ Hullo, I didn’t know you were a musician,” said John. 

“ I’m not, but I’m passionately fond of music.” 

“ I envy you : it’s left out of me.” 

“ Well done, Hugh,” laughed Creighton. “ You’ve 
made John admit that there’s one of the arts in which 
he’s not an expert. It’s more than I’ve ever done.” 

“ It’s not for want of trying,” continued John, ignoring 
the interruption. “I actually went to a Balliol Sunday 
concert once, but never no more !” 

Thus with desultory conversation they filled the miles 
up pleasantly enough. The day was perfect. The deep 
blue sky gave to the landscape an almost Italian quality 
which was accentuated by the sharp silhouette of 
Crooksbury hill, whose mantle of dark pine looked like 
Cyprus in the limpid heat-laden air. As they topped a 
steep rise through larches, Creighton pointed suddenly 
away to the right. 

“ There’s the cottage,” he said, “ up among the trees.” 

“It looks perfectly charming, ‘Camel,’” said John; 
“ I shall almost expect a view of Florence from the 
verandah.” 

Turning off into a lane they toiled slowly upwards 
toward the house, which glimmered white against the 
deep black coolness of the pines. As they drew nearer 
they noticed a grey touring car standing in front of 
Creighton’s gate. 


228 A CITY IN THE FOREGROUND 

“Who are your rich friends, ‘Camel’?” said John; 
“ you’ve kept us in the dark about your social activities, 
but you’re found out at last.” 

“ I’ve not the vaguest idea who they can be,” replied 
Creighton in obvious bewilderment. “ Perhaps the 
county is beginning to call. Be sombre, John, and 
frighten it off.” 

The immobile and stately chauffeur gave them no clue, 
but as soon as they got within sight of the front door 
the mystery was solved. An elegantly dressed figure 
detached itself from a pile of equally elegant luggage 
and danced down the path to meet them. 

“Charles!” said Creighton. 

“ Charles !” said John. 

“ My deaurs !” said Charles. 

“We thought it was the county I” moaned John, “ and 
it’s only Charles 1 ” 

Dallas was voluble with apologies. “ I don’t know 
what you will think of me, my dear,” he said to 
Creighton ; “ but really in this intolerable heat I couldn’t 
face the South Western, so the Duchess, who really is 
delightful, ‘ Camel,’ said she’d lend me the car. Oh, my 
dears^ you haven't been to meet me! I shall never 
forgive myself, never!” 

Creighton hastened to assuage the transport of his 
grief, the chauffeur was dismissed, and the party, with 
the notable exception of the owner, set itself to carry the 
litter of dressing cases and portmanteaux into the 
house. While they were thus occupied, Harold, looking 
slightly tousled, sauntered round the corner of the porch. 

“ The odour of rare essences,” he began, “ woke me 
from my slumbers. ‘ That,’ said I, ‘ smells remarkably 
like Charles.’ The window being open, the sound of 


A CITY IN THE FOREGROUND 229 

voices smote upon my ears. * That/ said I, ‘ sounds 
remarkably like Charles/ and, lo ! it is Charles.” 

“ Come and give me a hand, you lazy rufhan,” said 
Creighton. “ Charles has brought his complete ward- 
robe : we shall have to put most of it in the gardener’s 
shed.” 

Charles twittered with anxiety. 

‘‘Oh, but are you sure it’s not damp there and cob- 
webby ?” 

“ Charles, be a man !” said Harold with mock severity. 
“ Help these honest fellows with their loads. I’m sur- 
prised to see you standing there doing nothing. I, 
meanwhile, will concentrate my mind on the problem 
of organisation. ‘Camel/ I have to-day discovered my 
truer metier : to assist by word and gesture the generous 
labour of my friends; I have realised, to quote the in- 
spired advertisement, that I possess in my brain the 
finest money-making concern in the world. Now then, 
my hearties ” 

“ Hugh, festoon him with dressing cases, gag him with 
holdalls,” laughed Creighton, who was already stagger- 
ing beneath a giant portmanteau up the narrow stair- 
case. 

Hugh and John made a combined rush at the offend- 
ing Harold, and compelled him, despite his protests, 
to carry the largest of the remaining suit cases into the 
cottage. 

As soon as the sum of Charles’s belongings had been 
stowed with much talk and laughter into his room, it 
being found upon examination, much to his relief, that 
it would not be necessary to requisition the gardener’s 
shed, the party met in a state of exhaustion upon the 
verandah. Harold, who was hot, and more than ever 


230 A CITY IN THE FOREGROUND 

dishevelled, flung himself with a deep sigh into the only 
deck chair. 

“ My faith in human nature,” he moaned, “ has been 
sadly shaken. I offered for your assistance the best 
that I had to give, my brain, and what came of it? I 
was made a mock of. ‘ Even so does democracy dis- 
trust its greatest men.’ ‘ Camel,’ where is tea ?” 

“ Mrs. Wickham is just bringing it. What’s happened 
to Tom ?” 

“ Ah, that reminds me. Your brutal energy had 
driven momentarily all thoughts from my mind. Tom, 
exuding the disgusting heartiness which appears to be 
an essential part of all civil servants, has been mowing 
the tennis lawn. A fine sight, my friends, upon which 
I was reflecting deeply when you arrived. The flow of 
muscle beneath the clear, healthy skin, the generous fore- 
head shining with honest sweat, a moving sight ! F it 
subject for an artist : John, I commend it to you. Little 
does the world realise the dignity of manual toil. It is 
the duty of the artists, the thinkers, like ourselves, to 
familiarise it with the spectacle, to rescue it from the 
false ideals of a decaying civilisation, to point the way 
to a simpler, cleaner life ! ‘ Camel,’ I am becoming 

lyrical ! I feel the divine afflatus, I ” 

John stopped the flow of words by the simple but 
effective method of putting a cushion on the speaker’s 
face and sitting on it, while Hugh deftly upset the 
struggling victim from his chair, and left him sprawling 
upon the floor. Meanwhile, in response to Creighton’s 
repeated calls, a large figure appeared from behind a 
neighbouring bush and came slowly towards the house, 
mopping its face with a large blue handkerchief.” 

“ Come and have tea, Tom,” said Creighton. 


A CITY IN THE FOREGROUND 231 

“ Tea ! Good heavens, I thought it was time for 
dinner; it’ll be dark pretty soon. As a matter of fact 
I didn’t know you’d come back,” replied the new-comer, 
throwing his coat on to the balustrade. “ I’ve been 
doing a little honest work with your lawn, it’s in a dis- 
gusting condition, ‘ Camel,’ can’t have been touched for 
months.” 

“As the owner of the house is a maiden lady of some 
fifty summers, it probably hasn’t. I don’t know why the 
dear creature has a tennis lawn at all. By the way, you 
know everybody, don’t you? Oh, no — I don’t think 
you’ve met Hugh Kenyon — Hugh, this is Tom Vincent.” 

As they shook hands Hugh took a good look at the 
man who had just joined them. The first impression 
he got was one of enormous size. In height Vincent 
must be considerably over six feet, and everything about 
him was proportionately big, his shoulders, his hands, 
his voice, which was like that of a young bull, even to 
his teeth, so firm and white, that Hugh found himself 
staring at them in fascinated admiration. 

“My dear! You make me hot to look at you,” said 
Charles, who appeared at this moment in the French 
window. “ ‘ Camel,’ ce grand barhare is surely another 
excuse for tea ?” 

“Well, here it is — we’ll have it on the verandah, Mrs 
Wickham, if you don’t mind. Harold, get up off the 
floor and bring one of the tables out of the drawing- 
room.” 

“ I’m hanged if I do, ‘ Camel ’ ! I’ve been brutally 
treated by your muscular friends, and the doctor told 
me not to exert myself unduly.” 

“ Harold !” said Vincent, rolling up his sleeves menac- 
ingly, “don’t make it necessary for me to persuade you !” 


232 A CITY IN THE FOREGROUND 

Harold turned obediently towards the house. “ Oh, 
well, I suppose I must yield to force majeure^ as Charles 
would say, but, mark you, I do it under protest. Your 
action, Tom, is distinctly unphilosophical, and I can’t 
think why they ever gave you a first in ‘ greats ’ — all 
right. I’m going!” and dodging the cushion which 
Vincent flung at him he vanished to the assistance of 
Creighton’s housekeeper, whom these manifestations of 
high spirits always reduced to helpless laughter. “ Such 
a one^ that Mr. Creighton,” she would tell her daughter, 
“with all those other young gentlemen just as bad, but. 
Lord ! not a grain of malice in the lot of ’em : it does 
my ’eart good to see their fun, it do !” 

Tea was eventually extricated from the house, and 
comparative calm descended upon the party. 

“ Make a good meal,” said Creighton, “ we don’t dine 
here, we just have cold supper about half-past eight.” 

Harold proceeded to take his host at his word. 

“You and I, Charles,” he remarked, as he ate, “will 
have to enter into a defensive alliance in this house of 
hooligans. We alone understand the better life ; though 
at one time I had hopes of Hugh.” 

Charles hitched a beautifully creased trouser still 
higher up his leg. “ I simply couldrCt do what you’ve 
been doing,” he said, “I should be a complete wreck 
within half an hour. This dreadful heat is positively 
exhausting as it is.” 

“ I’m hanged if I know how you two mulluscs contrive 
to live at all,” said Vincent, with a laugh that shook the 
tea table. “ I should die if I didn’t take more exercise 
than you do.” 

“You must be a very disturbing element in Whitehall, 
Tom,” murmured Harold, shaking his head despond- 
ently. 


A CITY IN THE FOREGROUND 233 

“My dear Harold, the Civil Service is not what it 
was in our young days,” said John from behind his 
pipe. “Young Oxford has revolutionised the Govern- 
ment offices.” 

“ By the way, talking of Government offices, have you 
seen much of George Foster since his marriage?” asked 
Creighton suddenly. 

“ Rather ! I was his best man, you know : Knox 
gathered round him in fine style. But IVe seen him 
since then, I ran across them in Switzerland.” 

“I couldn’t get up for the wedding, but I heard it 
was a great success. I like his wife. He brought her 
up for Eights week just after they got back from their 
honeymoon.” 

“Oh, she’s a thorough good sort, sister of Teddy 
Fish, you know. All George’s friends are delighted, 
they like her tremendously.” 

Hugh listened in silence. He knew none of the people 
they were talking about, and felt a little bit “out” 
of the conversation. Nevertheless, he found himself 
wondering whether Mrs. Foster liked her husband’s 
friends as well as they liked her, and whether it had 
ever occurred to her husband to ask her. Somehow the 
business of “ approval ” seemed rather one-sided. 

“What does Teddy think of it ?” asked Harold. 

“ Oh, he’s as pleased as Punch, he and George had 
known one another for years. They were at Eton 
together, you know.” 

“ I must get them to come down here some time,” said 
Creighton. “ Mrs. George will be a great asset.” 

“ Yes, do, that’s just what George would love.” 

By this time the sun was low in the sky and the tops 
of the pine trees were golden in the level beams that 
left the undergrowth in deepest shadow. The straight. 


234 A CITY IN THE FOREGROUND 

vigorous trunks glowed rusty-red where the evening 
light caught them, and between the branches the clear 
washed blue of the sky was turning to the faintest green 
at the horizon. The passive influence of evening was 
upon the party. Even the muscular Tom smoked 
silently in his chair. From somewhere far out on the 
misty plain a bugle call struck into the silence like a 
solitary star. 

“ I didn*t realise you were so martial hereabouts, 
‘ Camel,* ” said John at the sound. 

“There’s a camp out somewhere by Frensham. We 
often hear the bugles, sometimes a band as well.” 

“ It seems to fit into the picture extraordinarily well ; 
somehow, I like it.” 

“ Surrey’s a strange place,” said Hugh, “ wonderfully 
attractive for all its suburbanity. It used to be my 
childhood’s vision of romance.” 

“ Soldiers and maiden ladies,” mused John ; “ yes, it’s 
a funny mixture, certainly. How strange that Cobbett 
should have been frightened by Hindhead !” 

“ Don’t forget Tennyson,” protested Harold, “it reeks 
of him.” 

“ You’re right,” replied Hugh. “ Tennyson’s the key- 
note of Surrey, they share the same loveliness and the 
same mildness. In both you trudge through miles of 
villadom, until you’re almost tired out with all the 
respectability and the Christmas card churches, and 
then you come on a sudden twist of beauty that almost 
takes your breath away.” 

John creaked in his chair as he turned to watch the 
last streaks of sunset. 

“Heather and pines and comfortable romance, the 
‘Idylls,’ ‘In Memoriam,’ yes, I think it’s Tennyson, 


A CITY IN THE FOREGROUND 235 

though Fm not so sure about the ‘ Lotus Eaters/ and 
‘ Ulysses.’ ” 

"Wait till you know Surrey better,” answered Hugh; 
"you’ll find it all there; Surrey is inexhaustible.” 

" Sublimity at a tea party.” 

" Adventure romanticised.” 

" Surrey has no history,” continued John. " Just listen 
to the name — S-u-r-r-e-y, bland tranquillity, restfulness, 
landscape gardening. There’s more in Sussex, the 
creaking of old rigging, the rusty softness of black 
ships; much more in Oxford, mellowness, fatness, the 
richness of complex centuries; and Wiltshire, say it 
slowly to yourselves, W-i-l-t-s-h-i-r-e — the intolerable 
age of burnt out civilisations, the jostling emptiness of 
ghost-haunted downs.” 

Creighton bent forward and put his empty cup back 
on the table. 

" Perhaps you’re right, John, about Surrey having no 
history,” he said, "if so, then, according to the best 
authorities, it should be a happy place; it is a happy 
place, I feel at home here, at rest.” 

Hugh twisted sideways in his chair, a trick he had 
when he tried to get to grips with a point that worried 
him, to hold it, as it were, before it could escape him. 

"There’s something in what you’ve all said, Surrey’s 
all that, but it’s something more. There’s a quality of 
magic, too. I don’t find it just unthinkingly happy, it 
stimulates me, worries me, perhaps because so much of 
me is tied up with it.” A short silence. " I give it up, 
I can’t focus it, but I believe the Tennyson parallel is 
right; after all, he wrote some of the most wonderful 
lyrics in the language, and Surrey’s full of wonderful 
moments.” 


236 A CITY IN THE FOREGROUND 

Vincent knocked his pipe out against the wooden 
floor. The sudden noise seemed to break the spell : 
chairs creaked in sympathy. 

“Stop sharpening your wits, you fellows,” he said, 
“ remember I went down two years ago. I’m losing the 
Knox manner.” After a moment’s pause he went on, 
“ I came here for a rest, ‘ Camel,’ it’s a good place for 
a rest, as you’ve found out, but I couldn’t live here for 
long, it’s tame, I want the sea and rocks, mountains if 
possible.” 

“You’re like Geoffrey; he ran away after a week to 
bark his shins on Scotch peaks.” 

“ I don’t think I ever really want the sea,” said John 
slowly, “ at least not when I’m there. It thrills me 
vaguely to hear about it, to talk about it, I suppose that’s 
in the blood, it comes of being an islander, but some- 
how when it’s actually therSy I always feel slightly 
repelled : there’s something too final about it.” 

“ I know what you mean,” said Hugh, “ you’ve ex- 
plained just what I feel, but I’ve never been able to say 
before exactly why the sea leaves me cold.” 

“You two don’t know the sea,” protested Vincent. 
“ I’ll take you sailing one of these days : nothing so 
stimulating in the world.” 

“ I don’t believe that would destroy my essential dis- 
like of it,” replied John, “unless it was in the Medi- 
terranean. I do like Italian sea when it’s very blue and 
very still.” 

Vincent smoked derisively. “ That’s not sea at all : 
if you come with me it’ll be to the West of Scotland.” 

John lit his pipe carefully before answering. “ That’s 
exactly where we shall be at eternal loggerheads. I’m 
too detached, I think, really to like the sea. When it 


A CITY IN THE FOREGROUND 237 

does appeal to me, it*s in a purely decorative aspect. 
Bays and inlets fascinate me when the colour is vivid 
enough, but it’s not as an element that I admire it, but 
as a variety of landscape, something that breaks up the 
design. It’s all a matter of temperament.” 

“ I expect Charles loves the sea,” said Creighton with 
a smile. 

“ I simply adore yachting : it’s frightfully delightful.” 

Harold broke a long silence. 

“Charles’s idea of yachting is a private party on the 
‘ Lusitania.’ ” 

“ My deary one must be comfortable.” 

“ Charles, you are an admirable corrective,” laughed 
John, “no college should be without you.” 

Creighton pulled himself to his feet, stretched his arms 
and yawned. “ He reminds me of my duties. I must 
go and see what Mrs. Wickham is doing about supper,” 
and he vanished into the house. 


CHAPTER XV 


Hugh went to bed that night tired and happy. He was 
glad that he had accepted Creighton’s invitation; he 
was going to enjoy himself. The change after the heat 
of London was just what he wanted. It was a blessing, 
after all, that Geoffrey was no longer of the party : now 
at last Hugh might have a chance of getting to know 
Creighton in his own way, instead of seeing him always 
in the violently distorting mirror of his friend’s en- 
thusiasm. A good fellow “ Camel,” certainly; one could 
feel at home with him, talk sense or nonsense to him just 
as the moment demanded. That tea on the verandah 
had been good fun : jolly talk, and so different from 
Palace Crescent. It did try to get at things instead of 
playing about with them like Rose and Aunt Gloria. 
You could “ sharpen your wits” — nice chap Vincent, no 
pretence about him, brains though; in his own way, big 
brains like his body . . . swelling up inside his head . . . 
nuisance to have big brains . . . like having a boil that 
never quite bursts. . . . 

For some days Hugh’s sky remained unclouded. 
There was no feeling of constraint about tlie party; 
everybody got on well with everybody else, working, 
idling, playing tennis, walking, eating and sleeping. 
Creighton had chosen his guests well. Vincent’s 
laugh rang all over the house and garden, his tireless 
energy made it impossible for anyone to become 
238 


A CITY IN THE FOREGROUND 239 

sluggish. John was always a good companion. Hugh 
saw a lot of him. They walked together, or lay on the 
scented heather slopes among the pines and talked of 
everything under the sun. What a pity that he had 
finished with Oxford, no one could possibly fill his 
place at Knox. Harold, too, was excellent company; 
he never said anything foolish, and beneath his pose of 
eternal weariness lay concealed a power of very shrewd 
observation, and a whimsical gift of criticism. No 
matter what the subject, he would talk with the same 
easy indifference, but it was rare that he had not some- 
thing to say worth hearing, something that made you 
laugh easily for the moment, and then think furiously, 
while he appeared to relapse again into his comfortable 
doze as though he had just wakened up sufficiently to 
apologise for snoring. And then the constant back- 
ground of Charles, elegant and undisturbed ! a simple 
soul beneath his affectations^ simple enough with them, 
quite content to be laughed at, bearing no malice, never 
put out of countenance; amusing, too, in his own rather 
baroque manner, happy enough to be a foil for others, 
provided laughter was coaxed from somebody. 

And so for a day or two Hugh was content to bask 
in the sun. He forgot for the time being his cursed 
priggishness — it was priggishness, he told himself again 
and again, though not of the self-satisfied kind; no, 
certainly, he never felt satisfied with himself, and yet 
that “ never feeling satisfied ” was in itself a certain — 
well never mind, it was priggishness of a kind : he forgot 
to worry himself, to bother about his soul and his 
problems, and heaven knows what ! Unfortunately the 
respite was short. He could never let himself go utterly 
for long. After a while he seemed to discover jarring 
notes here and there, was conscious of fits of irritation. 


240 A CITY IN THE FOREGROUND 

He couldn’t quite manage to identify himself with the 
others, there seemed just the tumbled remnants of a wall 
remaining which he could not knock down, and over 
which he could not step. With increasing dissatisfac- 
tion came the discovery that Creighton never gave him 
a chance of being alone with him, not that he behaved 
differently to him and to the others, he was a perfect 
host always, he did everything possible to make him 
feel at home, but there was the faintest suspicion 
of shyness, never quite the same degree of easiness, of 
unforced intimacy. There was, too, about everybody else 
a certain complacency that began to get on Hugh’s 
nerves ; it was as though they all realised that they were 
a privileged society apart. Conversation seemed at 
first unconstrained, but gradually the constant back- 
ground of “ Camel ” and his friends became more accen- 
tuated. Except when he was alone with John he found 
that the talk never got very far away from their own 
affairs or those of mutual friends. Hugh remembered 
vividly that conversation, on the first afternoon, about 
George Foster. It gave the keynote, somehow, of the 
whole business. Once you were a friend of “ Camel’s ” 
you had to live up to it for the rest of your life. There 
was something about the attitude faintly reminiscent of 
noblesse oblige: you never got away from the “Camel 
milieu ” ; even marriage failed to release you : your wife 
was involved. Not that Creighton ever said anything 
unkind about his friends’ wives : oh no ! he approved 
of them thoroughly, but somehow you weren’t married 
properly until your wife had been received and passed 
by the “set.” At times Hugh felt that possibly he was 
exaggerating all this; still, the illusion, if it was an 
illusion, was very obstinate. If only Creighton spoke 
occasionally of alien interests, of vacations spent in 


A CITY IN THE FOREGROUND 241 

another atmosphere, it would help to clear the air. But 
he never did. He seemed to be eternally friend-ridden, 
he never got away from the Knox circle, or rather his 
own circle in Knox ; apparently he did not want to. He 
was never alone. Whether at the cottage or travelling 
on the Continent, there was always at least one of the 
same lot with him, he was never sufficient for himself. 
Hugh began to feel that his host had no personality of 
his own, but was always reflecting the personality of 
his friends : he wouldn’t release them ; that was why 
he took such an interest in their wives. You could please 
yourself whether or no you married, but if you did, it 
must be on the clear understanding that your wife was 
to come into the sacred circle. The world outside was 
nothing unless seen, so to speak, from the temple steps. 
Naturally, most of these young men noticed nothing of 
all this ; they were distinct personalities, they had 
definite careers, determined outlooks; they lived their 
own lives happily or vividly enough, and they were only 
too pleased to keep a place apart for their old friend. 
It was all a sort of recreation, a pleasant asylum from 
outside worries and interests. “ Camel ” was always so 
delighted to see them, to hear about them, it was a 
pleasure to give something of themselves to him, to keep 
him “ going.” Hugh came, more and more, to see that 
this was a fair generalisation. All these friends brought 
together in a pleasant Surrey cottage were quite in- 
dubitably sure of themselves and of Creighton. They 
knew exactly what they wanted; more important still, 
they knew what he wanted. Everybody was in a con- 
spiracy to keep him young, to surround him with the 
interests he demanded, and in return for which he would 
play the ever charming host. What prospect but failure 

16 


242 A CITY IN THE FOREGROUND 

could there be for anyone who was on the same quest, 
who was seeking just that “fillip” of youthful en- 
thusiasm that must be given, not received, in such a 
milieu ? 

In this way did Hugh reason with himself, and the 
more he thought over the problem, the more he allowed 
his observation full play, the surer he became of his 
conclusions. One day, indeed, he did make a violent 
effort to come to close quarters with Creighton. They 
had all gone a long walk into the woods. On a steep 
knoll of pines the party had become separated, and 
Hugh, at full length in the heather, his chin on his 
hands, had found himself alone with his host. The day 
was windless, and the straight tree stems rose about 
them clean and strong. There was silence in the wood, 
and the hot, sweet smell of conifers and heather. Before 
them the hill swept bare and steep to the feathery green 
of larches on the lower slopes. Beyond was spread the 
whole pageant of August landscape clear to the eye. 
To the right the peak of Crooksbury — constant as 
Fujiyama in every Surrey panorama — cut the sky with 
a hard outline. In the middle distance the twin waters 
of Frensham shone under the midday blaze like shields 
of silver. A few birds were twittering, and innumerable 
insects hummed interminably. 

Creighton, from his seat on a fallen trunk, started the 
conversation. “ You’re going into digs with Geoffrey 
next term, aren’t you ?” 

“ Yes, Cyril, Sanderson, and I — rather a funny party, 
isn’t it ?” 

“ Oh, I don’t know, you’ll all get on very well, you 
couldn’t help getting on with Geoffrey.” 

“Oh, I get on with him all right, but I’m not quite 
sure about living with him.” 


A CITY IN THE FOREGROUND 243 

He’s just the man for you to be in digs with; I envy 
you.” 

“I’m not sure that I envy myself. I’m very devoted 
to Geoffrey, but he’s just a little overpowering, don’t 
you think ? Can’t you imagine yourself getting him 
just a little on your nerves ?” 

“ Geoffrey on my nerves ! Why, ten minutes of him 
makes me feel five years younger. If I lived with him 
I should go straight back into my boyhood.” 

Hugh had had a vague idea of discussing the matter 
further, but obviously no help was coming from 
Creighton, to whom Geoffrey was an article of faith 
beyond question. There was silence again, broken only 
by an occasional “ flip,” as Hugh lazily threw pine cones 
into the bushes. 

Creighton again began to talk : the quiet seemed to irk 
him, to frighten him with possibilities : he and Hugh 
had never before been alone together for so long. 

“They’ve cut down a lot of these trees since I was 
here last spring,” he said. 

Hugh rolled over on his elbow. “How amazingly 
beautiful it is,” he answered, rather inconsequently. 
“ Surrey is, after all, wonderful.” 

“ Yes, it’s a pretty view.” 

The futility of the reply stung Hugh to a sort of 
perverse exuberance. “Pretty!” he cried, “it’s — it’s — 
intolerable, Creighton!” — he could never bring himself 
to use the man’s nickname to his face. 

“ Intolerable ?” 

“ Yes, surely, can’t you feel it ? I want to do some- 
thing with it, and I don’t know what to do — it’s hell ! 
All this,” and he flung his arm round the horizon, “it 
sets something bubbling inside me, I want to answer it 
somehow. God in heaven ! I feel like — like ” — he 


244 A CITY IN THE FOREGROUND 

sought for a simile — “like a lump of wet dough in the 
middle of a loaf.” He gave something between a laugh 
and a sob at the absurdity of the figure : he was very 
near tears. “ I can^t assimilate ; I can’t get into it.” 
He sprang to his feet and started walking up and down, 
kicking angrily at the scattered twigs and cones. “ If 
only I could paint, or write, or sing, or chop wood, any- 
thing to get out of myself, to get away from the feeling 
that I’m a damned stranger. No, I don’t suppose I 
want to get out of myself either, I want to get hold of 
myself, to pick myself up with both hands and fling 
myself right into the middle of it. Why should I be 
able to see all this beauty, feel it all, and yet be like this ? 
You don’t see it, and you’re happy enough, why 
shouldn’t / be happy too ?” 

“What an extraordinary fellow you are, Hugh,” said 
Creighton. He was plainly embarrassed : this was so 
unlike anything he was used to ; he didn’t know what to 
do or say. “Why can’t you just enjoy it without 
getting into a state ? I can’t understand you.” 

“ Of course you can’t, I can’t understand myself. I’m 
like a love-sick eunuch, if you can realise such a thing — 
I tear myself to tatters with passion, and nothing comes 
of it ! You’re absolutely right, of course, why can’t I 
just enjoy it ? To be supremely happy, yes, that would 
be something, perhaps it would be the best of all. If 
I could be wonderfully happy, just for an hour, abso- 
lutely, without any doubt, without any discontent — I — 
I — I think I should kill myself !” 

“Don’t talk rubbish!” Creighton was really 
annoyed. 

" It’s not rubbish, it’s supreme sense. Do you re- 
member the case of young Cohen at All Saints ? They 
thought he was mad.. He shot himself in the middle of 


A CITY IN THE FOREGROUND 245 

the day, and he left a letter explaining why he did it. 
It was splendid ! Do you remember what he said ? 
ril tell you. He said that at that moment he was 
absolutely happy, that he had never known such happi- 
ness. Rather than drop to anything less wonderful, 
rather than lose such a moment, he decided to end his 
life. To finish on that chord ! That was splendid ! 
Yes, it was, it was sublimely sane, and he had the 
courage to do it. I know what you’re going to say, 
that it’s cowardly to kill oneself. It is cowardly when 
it’s done from fear, but it’s divine as Cohen did it. Don’t 
worry about me, I shall never be happy enough, great 
enough, brave enough !” 

He stopped. Perhaps the sudden fire had burnt itself 
out, perhaps he heard the rustle of approaching foot- 
steps, for suddenly Vincent’s roar echoed through the 
woods hallooing. A moment later he burst into view, 
swinging his hat and mopping his forehead. 

“Couldn’t think where you fellows had got to,” he 
panted, leaning against a tree, “you lazy devils ! We’ve 
been hunting for you high and low, even Charles has 
been running about in the undergrowth. I’ve left the 
others down there on the road, there’s a capital pub with 
oceans of beer ; come on.” 

He pulled Creighton to his feet, and slowly the three 
descended the hill, Hugh behind the other two, moody, 
silent, and a little ashamed of his outburst. They found 
the others where Vincent had said, and the party spent 
the rest of the afternoon drinking ale and eating bread 
and cheese outside the “ Woodcutters’ Arms.” 

^ ‘If * * * 

Creighton never mentioned that conversation in the 
wood, nor did his manner to Hugh differ at all from the 
attitude of kindly hospitality which always marked it. 


246 A CITY IN THE FOREGROUND 

His was just as gay, just as intimate as ever, nor did he, 
by any word or by the most passing of expressions, 
show that he had been jostled for a moment out of his 
normal groove of happiness. Hugh, too, by a violent 
effort succeeded, as soon as the immediate reaction was 
past, in recapturing, to outward view, his former mood. 
He felt he owed it to his friends. Presumably his efforts 
were at least adequate, for nobody taxed him with un- 
sociability during the remainder of his stay. He left 
rather earlier than he had intended, pleading an altera- 
tion in his uncle’s plans. So far as he was concerned, 
the visit had failed. He had built high hopes upon it, 
which, as he told himself now, he might have known to 
be excessive. He blamed nobody but himself. Creighton 
was an honest, pleasant, harmless fellow enough, but he 
was not what Hugh had tried to make of him. They 
were too much unlike ever to be much help to one 
another. Or was it perhaps that they were too much 
alike ? After all, they were both striving to reach the 
same goal, even though their roads lay leagues apart. 
However that might be, the wall had stood against 
Hugh’s most violent assaults. It would always be 
there now. There would be no tragic business of 
histrionics. They would no doubt often talk together 
over the top, but neither would ever again try to climb 
it nor to batter it down. 

As Hugh thought of these things, he tended, as usual, 
to blame himself more and more, Creighton less and less. 
His impulses, when he had them, were always foolish. 
He was a useless fellow, conceited and timid, egotistical 
and wavering ; what a mixture ! Prig ! prig ! prig ! 
And he kicked himself, metaphorically, out of the county 
of Surrey. 


CHAPTER XVI 


It was a new sensation to drive from the station to 
“digs” instead of to college, and Hugh recaptured 
momentarily the fine excitement of the freshman’s term. 
He felt an enlarged horizon, wider liberty, the unlock- 
ing of yet one more Oxford door. His hansom rattled 
down George Street, past the theatre, and into the glare 
of the “ Corn ” just as the October dusk was falling. The 
day was typical of Oxford, and the city was smothered 
in one of the early autumn fogs. Opposite Balliol the 
lights of shop windows blurred dimly the moist thick- 
ness of the evening. The few wayfarers looked more 
than ever like deep-sea hsh kept eternally from the 
ocean surface by the pressure of immeasurable waters. 
From hidden towers bells clapped endlessly like the 
warning signals of buoys off threatening cliffs. Hugh 
had the born Londoner’s love of fogs : they excited him. 
Consequently the peculiar richness of Oxford mists 
roused him to no querulous complaints. The dampness, 
the mystery, seemed to suit the city, which, as the natural 
darkness of evening mingled with the close-wrapping 
moisture, took on the tint and form of a fairy place of 
rock and seaweed submerged in deep waters. 

The feeling of renewed independence which he had 
experienced at the station rose in him again as he jingled 
past the lighted porch of Balliol and saw upon the pave- 
ment the seemingly abandoned pyramid of trunks in- 
separable from the first day of term. The emotion con- 
tinued and shed a radiance all its own on 55a, which 
247 


248 A CITY IN THE FOREGROUND 

beckoned already with the light arid warmth of a more 
material welcome. Neither Geoffrey, Cyril, nor Freddy 
Sanderson had arrived, though Mrs. Grahame insisted 
that dinner had been ordered for the complete party at 
eight o’clock. As it still wanted an hour and a half to 
the feast, Hugh, knowing the habits of his friends, re- 
assured the landlady, and proceeded to unpack his own 
belongings in the peace of an empty house. He had got 
his sitting-room — which was also the common dining- 
room, as he remembered with a chuckle — into a state of 
reasonable order, when he heard Geoffrey’s voice raised 
in argument with a cab-driver in the street. Mrs. 
Grahame appeared to have heard it also, for the front 
door was opened before the bell was rung, and a moment 
later Geoffrey himself, full of spirits, burst into the 
room. 

“Tell him to bring all the luggage in here, Mrs. 
Grahame,” he called over his shoulder, “we’ll get it up- 
stairs after dinner; you’ll give us a hand, won’t you 
Grandpa ?” — to Hugh, whom of late he had taken to 
calling by that name — “Well, how are you? Pretty fit, 
I hope, to keep me company ; I’m feeling as hearty as a 
lion. Cyril ! where the devil have you got to ? come 
down and say good evening to Grandpa ! ” 

Hereupon he flung his overcoat and muffler at the 
pile of half-arranged books, and proceeded to rub hands 
noisily before the fire. 

“ What time’s dinner ?” he asked, suddenly. “ Dam* 
soon, I hope, I could eat a sheep. Come on, Cyril,” as 
Harborough appeared in the doorway, “don’t bother 
about getting your things upstairs yet, we’ll eat first. 
By the way,” he added to Hugh, “you’ve heard about 
Freddy, I suppose?” 

“ No, what about him ?” 


A CITY IN THE FOREGROUND 249 

“ His father was so furious about the ‘ bumper ’ that 
he’s not letting poor Freddy come up this term, so we 
shall have the house to ourselves, which reminds me. I’ve 
not broken the news to Mother Grahame yet ; Fll go and 
do it now,” and he bustled out of the room. 

Hugh was rather perturbed by the news. The digs 
cost, in any case, more than he had originally meant 
to pay, even when shared between four of them. The 
defection of Sanderson seriously complicated matters. 

“ Did you know this ?” he asked Cyril as soon as 
Geoffrey had left the room. 

“ Geoffrey told me just now in the cab.” 

“ It’s rather a nuisance, isn’t it ? unless we get some- 
body in to take his place.” 

“ Oh, I don’t know ; it’s not a big house, and we shall 
just about fill it nicely. I can’t think of anyone one 
wants about the place : besides, everyone’s settled now.” 

“ That’s all very well, but it’s going to be damned 
expensive.” 

Cyril moved protestingly in his chair. He always 
considered it slightly indelicate for people less well off 
than he to parade their poverty. 

“It won’t come to so much more,” he said; “it’s only 
the rent, after all, we shan’t be paying for Freddy’s 
food.” 

At this moment Geoffrey returned. “ I’ve fixed it all 
up. She was a little worried, naturally, but I explained 
that we’d look after the rent.” 

“That’s all very well, Geoffrey,” protested Hugh, 
“but I’m a poor man, and I certainly understood that 
we were going to be four here.” 

“ My good fool,” returned Geoffrey, “ don’t talk about 
poverty. Look at me — broke ! and on the first day of 
term, too!” and he attacked the loaf with vigour, seem- 


250 A CITY IN THE FOREGROUND 

ingly unperturbed by the financial complications he had 
just admitted. ^‘When the devil’s that food coming? 
I shall eat all the bread before dinner arrives if it’s not 
pretty quick.” 

‘*Do listen to sense for a moment, Geoffrey,” said 
Hugh, who was getting seriously annoyed. “I’m not 
you, and I’m hanged if I’m going to live above my in- 
come when I get nothing for it” 

“ Live above it or below it or in the middle of it, but 
I’m not going to argue on an empty stomach ! ” In a 
moment his voice changed to a friendlier note. “ It’ll be 
all right, old man; honestly, I can’t afford it any more 
than you can : we shall have to discuss it seriously. 
Ah ! here’s dinner at last ; come on, you carve. By-the- 
by, I wheedled a bottle of fizz out of the old man to 
celebrate the house-warming,” he added, producing from 
his overcoat pocket a large gold-topped bottle which he 
proceeded to open. 

For the moment the subject dropped, and the three 
chatted, laughed, ate and drank, in the highest spirits. 
On this first evening Mrs. Grahame showed herself an 
excellent cook, and under the influence of champagne 
the prospect of the future looked rosy enough. 

Dinner finished, they lit pipes and drew up chairs to 
the fire. Hugh led the conversation back to the chief 
question at issue. 

“ As a matter of fact,” he began, “ it’s not altogether 
fair on Mrs. Grahame. You see, she reckons to make on 
our food, and she loses badly if there are only three 
of us.” 

To this proposition Geoffrey assented. “ I know,” he 
said. “Of course, Freddy may come up next term, but 
meanwhile we shall have to get somebody in ; the ques- 
tion is, who shall it be ?” 


A CITY IN THE FOREGROUND 251 

Hugh, mindful of former disagreements, refrained 
from making any suggestions. 

Geoffrey continued : “ Look here, Cyril, you and I will 
have to put our heads together and think of a few 
possible people. Perhaps ‘Camel* can help; we’ll go 
round and see him to-morrow.” 

Hugh noticed that his consent was, presumably, not 
to be asked in this connection, but wisely held his peace. 
If life at 55a was to run smoothly, he must be tactful 
from the outset. 

“ There are one or two things we’d better fix up while 
we are about it,” suggested Cyril. “How about our 
cellar ? I’ve got Jones’s wine list somewhere : I’ve just 
ticked off one or two items.” 

“ Yes, by jove, that’s important,” Geoffrey agreed. 
“ Let’s see, what do we want ? Remember, Cyril, I’m on 
the cheap, and so’s Hugh.” 

“ Oh, of course, but we must have something to offer 
guests, mustn’t we ? Look here, this is what I suggest,” 
producing a circular from his pocket, “ a dozen fizz to 
start with, dozen port, one case of whiskey, couple of 
bottles of benedictine, dozen of sherry, and say half a 
dozen good liqueur brandy : that’s moderate enough.” 

Geoffrey pondered over the list. “I don’t see how 
we’re going to do with less,” he said. “If fellows dine 
here, they expect something decent to drink.” 

“But look here,” expostulated Hugh, “surely men don’t 
expect all that wine on ordinary nights. One doesn’t 
get it when one goes to other digs. I should have 
thought beer and whiskey would have seen us through.” 

“Oh, rot!” retorted Geoffrey. “Of course we must 
have wine; we want fellows to feel that they like coming 
here.” 

Hugh felt that now or never he must make a stand. 


252 A CITY IN THE FOREGROUND 

“Life’s going to be simply ruinous if you get in what 
you suggest. I, for one, can’t possibly afford it; be- 
sides, it’ll only lead to more.” 

Geoffrey, whom dinner had put in a good mood, was 
gently persuasive. “My dear old thing,” he answered, 
“ it’s not really as bad as it looks. Let’s limit ourselves 
to one guest night a week. We’ll go quiet for six and 
have a real old bust on the seventh. We shan’t get 
through much at that rate, and I can get any amount of 
credit with Jones.” 

“We shall get through a great deal more than I can 
pay for,” said Hugh. “If you really mean to have a 
bust once a week, we shall have to restock at least every 
fortnight. I can’t do it, Geoffrey. I warned you when 
you asked me to ‘ dig ’ with you, so you can’t complain 
that I’m letting you down.” 

There was a moment’s silence. Geoffrey and Cyril 
exchanged looks. After a moment or so Cyril took up 
the conversation. “ Well, look here,” he said, “ Geoffrey 
and I’ll do the wine on our own, and you can just pay 
for what you have.” 

“ Oh, that’s rot,” replied Hugh ; “ we’ve got to run the 
house on a ‘ sharing ’ system ; otherwise there’ll be com- 
plications all round. Besides, I should feel pretty rotten 
if I stood out like that. Surely we can do with less ?” 

“ I tell you what we’ll do,” suggested Geoffrey; “we’ll 
get in a sample supply, ‘without prejudice,’ and see how 
things pan out; will that suit you ?” 

Hugh, inwardly cursing his weakness, agreed with as 
good a grace as he could summon, though he realised 
that he was making an abject surrender, and the con- 
versation moved to other topics. 

For the next few days there was vague talk of possible 
friends who might be induced to take Sanderson’s place 


A CITY IN THE FOREGROUND 253 

at 55a, Broad Street. “ Camel,” presumably, was con- 
sulted, as his name was mentioned in connection with 
most of the proposals, but nothing definite was at- 
tempted, after the first week, to fill the empty room. 
Hugh ought, of course, to have insisted, as he told him- 
self again and again, but always at the critical moment 
his courage failed. He was loth to bring actual discord 
into what was promising to be a comparatively happy 
house. He had always, as he had told John, doubted 
the wisdom of sharing rooms with Geoffrey and Cyril, 
but he was beginning to hope that he had been unduly 
pessimistic. Things were going well, and he reconciled 
himself to the expense on the ground that he was 
“ getting on ” too well with the others to risk a debacle. 
Geoffrey’s temper remained equable for a longer period 
than Hugh had ever known it in former days. He really 
set himself to be charming, and where he led Cyril 
obediently followed. Possibly some thanks were due to 
Creighton. Hugh suspected that he had spoken to 
Geoffrey, certainly he took an interest in the house, and 
dropped in to see them as often as he could get away 
from college. On the second day of term he had met 
Hugh in the Broad and, taking his arm, had said again 
of Geoffrey, as he had said in Surrey ; 

I’m awfully glad you’re digging together, he’s just 
the man you want, and I think you’re good for him too 
and though Hugh doubted the essential suitability, he 
recognised the kindly motive that prompted the don’s 
words. For a moment he had been tempted to overlook 
his former failure at intimacy, to try once more to reach 
the ideal footing which he had planned, but the vision 
of a pine-wood had come in time to warn him of the 
futility of such an effort. Not that he kept away from 
Creighton. He made a point of going to his rooms 


254 A CITY IN THE FOREGROUND 

every now and then, but save for that one moment of 
uncertainty he never again tried to see in him more than 
he was sure was really there. In the college Creighton's 
old position was completely re-established. Ritchie and 
Everett had gone down, and, bereft of their leadership, 
the revolutionary element was too weak to promote 
trouble. Geoffrey, too, had learned his lesson, and took 
more care than usual not to provoke opposition to his 
friend. Harding was forgotten ; the bump supper had 
become almost mythical, and, generally speaking, Knox 
was once more at harmony with itself. 

The secondary harmony of 55a, Broad Street was un- 
fortunately only superficial. It took some time for dis- 
cord to become actually audible, but the false notes had 
been sounded, and were only kept under by the violent 
efforts of tlie players to make a pleasant noise. Affable 
and good tempered though Geoffrey was, Hugh could 
not but feel that he was always more at home with Cyril 
than with him. Why this should be, he did not attempt 
to explain. Cyril never made any effort to share 
Geoffrey’s more serious interests. He took little or no 
pleasure in literature and music, both of which meant 
much to his friend, and yet Hugh, who intellectually 
should have been a far more congenial companion, never 
began to attain the comfortable intimacy with Geoffrey 
which Cyril enjoyed with effortless ease. The compro- 
mise which ruled the household was, indeed, of the kind 
that sometimes develops after marriage. Hugh yielded 
much and received little. He felt always that he must 
be on the look out for pit-falls, that he could never 
afford to speak or act unthinkingly, and, naturally 
enough, as time wore on, he began to tire of the constant 
sense of strain. 

The consequent friction, increasing, as it did, almost 


A CITY IN THE FOREGROUND 255 

imperceptibly day by day, had all the character of 
certain types of nightmare. To Hugh it seemed that he 
had lived through all this before. There was, for him, 
no element of surprise or shock. What was now happen- 
ing had been inevitable from the first ; it was in the very 
fabric of the motley of characters and influences which 
the house had so strangely, of late, put on. The nature 
of the sum could have been foretold from an examination 
of the parts. The fatal tendencies that were now be- 
ginning to manifest themselves were no different from 
those he had always, however dimly, foreseen and never 
yet faced with sufficient courage. At the same time the 
charm which Geoffrey was capable of exercising was 
still in operation as it had been when, under its spell, 
Hugh had refused to listen to the promptings of his 
better judgment. Geoffrey could be, when he chose, 
there was no doubt, perfectly delightful, and even now 
there were times when it seemed that the worst crisis 
was past, and that harmony would really prevail if he 
would only take the trouble to keep the best side of his 
nature predominantly in evidence. He would come some- 
times into Hugh’s room late at night and talk, well into 
the small hours, of literature and art, with the fine and 
uncompromising enthusiasm to which his versatile and 
impulsive nature was, in a sense, a prey. He had, among 
other gifts, an astounding memory, and Hugh, who 
could never memorise without conscious effort, would 
sit and smoke, content to listen while his friend repeated 
whole pages of Thackeray and Hardy, poems of Brown- 
ing, and even scenes from Webster, without any apparent 
difficulty. Of all that he liked and admired his 
championship was unbounded. At the same time, by 
a natural consequence, he was abnormally intolerant of 
opposition, and utterly uncompromising in his hostility 


256 A CITY IN THE FOREGROUND 

to ideas and movements which failed to appeal to him. 
Hugh tried once or twice to maintain discussions with him, 
but the result brought them always so near to quarrel- 
ling that he soon gave up the attempt. On the last 
occasion, feeling had risen so high that Geoffrey went 
finally out of the room and slammed the door. Hugh 
had been to the theatre to see a performance of the 
Younger Generation,” and soon after he got back 
Geoffrey had come in for a smoke before going to bed. 
He had seen the programme lying on the table, had 
looked at it for a moment, and then, with a contemptuous 
snort, had crushed the offending paper into a ball. This, 
in the first place, had annoyed Hugh. 

“ Don’t do that, please,” he had said, “ I’ve got to do a 
notice for the IsiSy and I shall want to look at the caste.” 

“ Good heavens ! ” Geoffrey had replied, “ I could write 
a column about that sort of stuff with my eyes shut ! ” 

“Well, that’s no reason for destroying my pro- 
gramme.” 

“ What on earth do you want to go to that muck for ?” 

“ I told you I’m doing a notice for the Is ” 

“ I’ll tell you what to say about it.” 

Hugh felt that Geoffrey was getting into one of his 
really intolerable moods. “ No, thanks,” he laughed. 
“I’m quite capable of making up my own mind about 
it ” ; and then a mischievous impulse tempted him to add, 
“ It’s not a bad play, by the way.” 

“ Not a bad play ! Great God ! you sometimes make 
me positively sick ! ” 

“ What’s your particular objection to it ?” 

“I’m fed up with all that morbid, analytic stuff; it’s 
like the braying of an emasculate donkey. I suppose 
you’re going to hail it as the supreme achievement of 
modern drama? If you want something really first- 


A CITY IN THE FOREGROUND 257 

class, the Irish Players are coming next week. You’d 
better let me do the Isis notice for them.” 

“ Why should I ?” 

“ Well, what the devil do you know about drama ?” 

This claim to a monopoly of intelligence was always, 
for Hugh, the last straw, but he had learned discretion 
at the cost of much former discomfort, and he said 
nothing. For a few moments longej Geoffrey had fumed 
about the room, finally going noisily to bed. 

After this episode Hugh attempted no further discus- 
sions. He was content to listen to the enthusiasm 
without awaking the intolerance. It was, rather invigor- 
ating to listen to somebody so utterly different from him- 
self. He certainly gained more stimulus from the 
torrent when he did not attempt to dam it. 

He very soon noticed that the moods of friendliness 
came to Geoffrey generally when Cyril was away. It 
soon became clear that the real disturbing element in 
Broad Street was not the violent, self-assertive person- 
ality, but the almost negative one. The effect of passive 
natures on Geoffrey did, in its way, present an en- 
thralling psychological study if only it could be watched 
objectively instead of as a worrying phenomenon with 
the power of influencing closely the life of the observer. 
Both for good and evil he was completely under the 
sway of men who were utterly inferior to him in intel- 
lectual power and animal vitality. Time after time 
Hugh had seen how Creighton could control even his 
most violent moods : it was now his turn to notice how, 
in a similar way, but with results bad instead of good, 
Cyril could exert an almost equal influence. It was of 
course true that when Geoffrey chose to exert himself 
Cyril followed like a sheep, but too often the indolence 

17 


258 A CITY IN THE FOREGROUND 

of the stronger man changed the pattern. When Cyril 
was present Geoffrey became an entirely different person 
to what he was at other times. His interest in intel- 
lectual things, if it did not vanish altogether, lost its 
power to influence him. His high spirits seemed in- 
stead to find relief in tormenting Hugh, in interrupting 
his work, in doing all the things that he knew perfectly 
well irritated and annoyed him. The two of them 
together would do all they knew to drive him out of the 
house, only to taunt him later with loss of temper and 
to accuse him of lacking in sociability. They would call 
him “ Grandpa ” until he sickened of the word, and 
laugh at his interests and ambitions until — always over 
sensitive — he began to wonder whether, after all, he was 
rather an absurd and laughable creature. Their scorn, 
even when fairly good-tempered, was so unconcealed 
that very soon he began to be in danger of looking upon 
himself as deserving no better. Needless to say, such 
an atmosphere was the very worst possible for one of his 
particular temperament. He knew perfectly well that 
what he wanted was stimulus, and for months he had 
searched high and low for someone who could provide it. 
Mockery merely made him distrust himself. He tried 
to counteract the effect of it by telling himself that these 
two meant nothing really, that they enjoyed laughing 
at somebody, and that he was the one most conveniently 
placed for the purpose. At the same time, though he 
might build up an argument in his own favour which 
was logically sound, the constant knowledge that he was 
looked upon as little better than a butt worked upon his 
nerves to such an extent that in a very short time, he 
knew, he would believe that he was one in very fact. 
There are few things more dangerous than to go on 
calling a man a fool. You may end in making him one. 


CHAPTER XVII 


From the very first Hugh was diffident about asking 
his friends to the house. He knew that Geoffrey and 
Cyril would probably dislike them, and that the former, 
at least, would make little effort to disguise his anti- 
pathies. Consequently, as time wore on, he became more 
and more isolated, more and more at the mercy of the 
atmosphere created by his companions. The men who 
came to dinner with now growing frequency were to him, 
for the most part, merest acquaintances. His natural 
timidity, sense of justice, politeness, call it what you will, 
prevented him, however, from expressing his dislike in 
words or manner, although he knew that in similar 
circumstances Geoffrey would hold himself bound by no 
such nicety of feeling. Meanwhile the guests, taking 
their cue from their hosts, treated him as more or less 
an agreeable nonentity, whose feelings were hardly 
worth considering. 

Hugh, of course, could and did find a certain relief in 
going to see his friends, and as much of his time as he 
could spare he divided between them and his club. In 
one^s third year, however, with ‘‘schools” ahead, it is 
necessary to spend a very large portion of each day and 
night “ at home,” and as life in lodgings is a far more 
concentrated affair than life in college, it is also more 
capable of developing into pleasing intimacy or 
disastrous mesalliance. 

The domestic programme d^awn up by Geoffrey, 

259 


26o a city in the foreground 


according to which all meals were taken in Hugh’s 
sitting-room, had more serious consequences than had 
at first seemed probable. When the arrangement had 
been made first, Hugh had felt a natural irritation at 
seeing his own privacy disturbed, with no more than his 
nominal consent being asked, for the benefit of the re- 
maining occupants of the house, but he knew his friend 
too well to persist in an opposition that could, he was 
sure, have no other end than the making of bad blood. 
He relied upon the ordinary etiquette of such arrange- 
ments to recognise what was due to the occupant of a 
room which, owing to its size and conveniences, must 
serve for common meals. At first all had gone well. 
Geoffrey and Cyril seemed to realise that he had indeed 
certain claims which must be admitted. They kept the 
room strictly inviolate at all but meal times, and for 
some weeks indeed did actually attempt, by observing 
strict punctuality, to disturb him as little as possible. 
As the term advanced, however, Geoffrey in particular 
found that such restrictions became tedious. More and 
more he made it clear that he looked on Hugh as 
occupying, during certain hours, the dining-room to 
which he and Cyril had a prior right, rather than as the 
legal tenant of an apartment in which, by courtesy, they 
were allowed to eat. Breakfast above all other meals 
became a bone of contention. On mornings when Hugh 
had lectures, he did not mind who sat at his table, nor 
at what hour the meal was cleared away, but three 
days a week he set aside for special reading between 
10 and I, and it was unbearably irritating to settle down 
to work with the consciousness that at about 10.30 
Geoffrey would come in for his breakfast, which, with 
the aid of conversation, he was in the habit of prolong- 


A CITY IN THE FOREGROUND 261 

ing until well after 1 1 o’clock. Cyril, moreover, 
although he kept earlier hours himself, would hang 
about the fire smoking until Geoffrey came down, or, 
even if he had gone to his own room, would drift back 
again to talk or laugh, with a total disregard for Hugh, 
who in this way found half his morning wasted through 
no fault of his own. Then, again, though lunch was 
nominally at 1.15, his co-lodgers would drop in hungry 
and talkative about 12.45, making further work impos- 
sible, blithely ignoring his requests for privacy, and 
accusing him of sullenness should his temper get the 
better of his tact. The fact that all this was done with- 
out malice did not materially ease the situation. 
Geoffrey’s untiring vitality blinded him to the possi- 
bility that others were less energetic than himself. He 
prided himself on being what he called “hearty,” and 
Hugh’s irritability he immediately put down to unjustifi- 
able bad temper, which must be exorcised by a display 
of still “ higher ” spirits. Several times a week the same 
scene, with slight variations of dialogue, would be re- 
peated, until the very sameness of it bred a monotony 
that was only less nerve shattering than the actual dis- 
turbance. As soon as breakfast had vanished finally, 
Hugh would settle down with a sigh of relief to an abrevi- 
ated morning’s work. When he was in the middle, 
usually, of a peculiarly intractable passage of “ Thucy- 
dides,” the front door would slam, and he would realise, 
with a glance at the clock, that his hours of peace were 
at an end. After a minute or two Geoffrey would burst 
into the room, fling himself into the armchair, and the 
play would begin : 

Geoffrey (poking the fire noisily). “ Still at it ! 
You’re working too hard, give it a rest for a bit.” 


262 A CITY IN THE FOREGROUND 


A grunt from Hugh. 

Geoffrey. “ God ! what filthy cigarettes ! Why can’t 
you provide something reasonable to smoke?” (Up- 
setting a box of Weinbergs on to the floor.) 

Hugh. “ Don’t be beastlier than you can help, 
Geoffrey. I wish to God you’d break up your own room 
instead of coming and kicking up an infernal row in 
here. It’s not nearly lunch time yet.” 

Geoffrey. “ Quite time enough for you to stop work- 
ing.” (Jumping up, going to the door shouting.) 
“ Cyril !” 

Cyril (from the distance). “Hullo !” 

Geoffrey. “Come down, you old ruffian, and bring 
my box of Peras, will you? You’ll find them on the 
mantelpiece. I can’t smoke Grandpa’s muck.” 

(Comparative silence for some minutes, during which 
Hugh makes a despairing effort to recapture the sense 
of the Melian dialogue. After a short wait Cyril enters, 
rubbing his hands and dancing with cold.) 

Cyril (throwing tin of cigarettes to Geoffrey), “ Here 
you are — catch ! My God ! I am cold. My fire’s smok- 
ing like hell. Why don’t you have a better fire. 
Grandpa ?” 

Geoffrey. “Grandpa’s in a poisonous temper; come 
and talk to me.” 

(The poking of the fire begins again. The remainder 
of Hugh’s cigarettes are swept into a corner of the 
fender.) 

Geoffrey. “ Lord, I am feeling hearty, Cyril ; I must 
break something !” 

Cyril. “ Be affable. Grandpa ! You’ve done enough 
work for one morning.” 

Hugh (bitterly). “Well, it’s pretty obvious that I 
can’t do any more now.” 


A CITY IN THE FOREGROUND 263 

Geoffrey (shouting with delight). “ Good ! we’ve got 
a * rise ’ out of the old thing. How thankful you ought 
to be Grandpa ; I don’t know what you’d do without us, 
we’re the only people who keep you alive.” 

(Hugh reflects grimly to himself that this presumably 
is what Creighton means by Geoffrey being “just the 
right person ” for him.) 

Cyril. “Why the devil is lunch so late? I’m play- 
ing golf at Frilford at half-past two: go and hurry 
’em up, Grandpa.” 

Hugh. “ I’m damned if I do : it’s only just after 
one!” 

Cyril. “ What a filthy temper you’re in : what’s the 
matter ?” 

(The entry of lunch eases the situation slightly at 
this point. The conversation grows milder in deference 
to the aged female who is laying the cloth. With her 
exit, however, the noise begins again. Geoffrey varies 
the exercise of eating by throwing bread pellets at the 
unoffending Hugh.) 

Hugh. “Oh, do shut up, for God’s sake. You’re 
making the place like a pigstye.” 

Geoffrey. “ What a surly devil you are. Grandpa ! 
Why can’t you be hearty like us ? You’ve got to keep 
your circulation going somehow on a cold day.” 

Hugh. “You two seem to forget that I’ve got to live 
here and clear up your mess.” 

Cyril. “What an ungrateful old Grandpa it is I You 
ought to be thankful to us for waking you up.” 

Geoffrey. “He doesn’t take enough exercise. Why 
don’t you turn out and play footer instead of mouching 
about all afternoon ?” 

(At this point, as a rule, the tormentors relax their 
efforts and attempt reconciliation.) 


264 A CITY IN THE FOREGROUND 

Cyril. “ Coming a motor run on Sunday, Grandpa? 
Geoffrey and I are going over to Henley for lunch. 
You’d better come too.” 

And so on, week after week, with slight alterations of 
detail. Occasionally Hugh would slam out of the house 
and go round to the club, to find, upon his return in the 
evening, Geoffrey and Cyril in a quieter frame of mind, 
attempting to repair by mildness the damage they had 
caused to his nerves earlier in the day. On other occa- 
sions the whole affair would pass off without any definite 
break, and Hugh would actually join the Sunday ex- 
pedition, though always with the feeling that he was 
being included rather from a sense of duty than because 
the other two really wanted his company. 

The cumulative effect of these scenes, was, of course, 
bound to end in disaster. Hugh felt the strain upon his 
good temper growing daily more intense. When, after- 
wards, he looked back upon these days he realised that 
what happened had been indeed inevitable, and only 
wondered that Geoffrey should have been so blind as 
never to see what the end would be. With foresight 
of any kind, however, in connection with the results of 
his own activities, he was not gifted. The episode of 
the bump supper had shown that clearly enough, but 
though he had learned from it experience of a particular 
kind, he did not trouble to ponder on the general lesson, 
nor to watch more carefully the impulses to which he 
surrendered himself so freely. 

It was towards the end of November that the catas- 
trophe occurred. For a whole week things had been 
going badly. Twice Hugh had got up in the middle of 
lunch and left the house. There had been no talk this 
time of healing motor cars : even Geoffrey began to 


A CITY IN THE FOREGROUND 265 

realise that the atmosphere was charged. His high 
spirits had given place to sulkiness : possibly he was 
just a little ashamed of himself. Cyril certainly saw 
danger ahead. Since Wednesday he had changed his 
usual noisy habits. It looked almost as though he were 
trying to act as a buffer. Hugh gave him credit for 
doing his best, and believed that it was with good in- 
tentions that he had taken Geoffrey out to dinner, leav- 
ing the sorely tried victim in peace. 

Hugh had an early meal and settled down to work 
in the welcome novelty of quiet surroundings. Not a 
soul in the house ! He had to set himself to savour, 
consciously, the emotion of satisfaction before he could 
get the full sense of the contrast. Eight o’clock. With 
luck he should be alone until eleven at the earliest. He 
lit his largest pipe, set the fire to a blaze, pulled up the 
big table, and settled down for a strenuous three hours. 
At ten o’clock he got up, stretched himself and decided 
to have ten minutes rest. He got out a tin of biscuits, 
some whisky and a siphon. He felt himself on the flood 
tide of enjoyment, and had lost himself in the pleasure 
of a half doze, when the front door opened with the 
uneven scuffling noise he knew so well. What the devil 
had brought them back at this time? Perhaps they 
would go straight upstairs. He sat rigid lest a noise 
might bring them to the room, but his precautions were 
useless : in a moment or two he heard mingled voices 
on the threshold. 

“ I’m jus’ goin’ in to beg’s pardon.” Then another 
more soberly : “ Don’t be an ass, come up to bed.” — 
“You’re dam’ fool, I mus’ go in t’ see Gran’pa; dear 
ole Gran’pa, I’ve been awf’ly rude to Gran’pa, mus’ 
beg’s pardon.” — “ Come up and have a drink first, he’s 


266 A CITY IN THE FOREGROUND 

working ” — “ Drink af wards ; jus’ go in one momen* say 
sorry.” 

With a sinking heart Hugh heard groping fingers on 
the door, which burst open a moment later on the 
alcoholically repentant Geoffrey who, hatless and coat- 
less, stumbled through the opening and fetched up 
against the table. Cyril followed him closely, and with 
rather a shamefaced glance at Hugh tried to force the 
intruder out again into the passage. Geoffrey, however, 
had come for a definite purpose and refused stolidly 
to budge. For a second he stood swaying gently while 
his eyes became accustomed to the sudden light. Then 
he noticed the whisky which Hugh had just taken out 
of the cupboard, and with a commendable steadiness of 
hand began to pour some into a tumbler. Cyril remon- 
strated faintly, but wisely forbore to prevent his friend 
by force. Hugh, to whom the scene was hardly new, 
waited for the trouble to begin. He loathed dealing 
with drunken people, though by no means averse to 
drinking occasionally himself. He held it as a maxim 
that those in their cups should seek exclusively one 
another’s company. “You cannot,” he would say, “ mix 
drunk and sober any more than you can mix wines — 
with safety.” 

The spirit seemed momentarily to steady Geoffrey. 
He pulled himself together and let go of the tablecloth. 

“Not goin’ to int’rupt you ole man,” he said, “jus’ 
wan’ say I’m sorry.” 

Hugh, in addition to his embarrassment, felt an irra- 
tional softening towards the penitent. 

“ That’s all right, there’s nothing to be sorry for,” he 
said with a laugh. 

Geoffrey was not to be baulked of his penance. 

“ Yes, there is ; I’ve been b’having li’ cad : dam’ sorry.” 


A CITY IN THE FOREGROUND 267 

“ That’s all right,” Hugh repeated with rather less 
conviction. 

but you don* realise how sorry I am. Wan* to 
make it qui* clear that I pololise — no, pogolise — dam* 
it ! You know wha* I mean, wan* to say I’m sorry, ole 
man.” 

“ I quite understand ; don’t bother any more about it.” 

“ Bu* can’t help it, mus^ say I’m sorry.” 

“You have said it; thanks very much.” Hugh was 
beginning to lose patience. 

“ You’ve said it now, Geoffrey, come along up to bed,” 
interrupted Cyril, “he wants to work.” 

“I’m no* goin* t* keep him momen*, bu* I don* think 
he believes it.” 

“Of course I believe it; you’re sorry, thanks very 
much.” 

Geoffrey seemed puzzled for a moment by this answer. 
He stood considering it in silence, then — 

“ How’m I t* know you b’lieve it ?” 

“ Oh Lord ! I can’t go on saying I believe it if you 
won’t listen. Let me go on with my work and I’ll 
believe anything you like.” 

Geoffrey turned on Cyril with a reproachful glance. 

“He’s angry!” he began again. “Qui* nat’ral to be 
angry. I’ve been beast, owe ’pogoly.” 

The nightmare seemed unending. Hugh felt that he 
could do nothing. There was a long pause during 
which Geoffrey appeared to be pondering some 
mysterious plan. He showed, however, no inclination 
to go away. Suddenly he smiled happily as though he 
had discovered a great truth. 

“ Tell y’ what,” he said, “we’ll take all picshers down : 
never did like your picschers : then I shall know you’ve 
f’given me, shan’ I ?” 


268 A CITY IN THE FOREGROUND 

The plan appeared so brilliant that he set himself 
straightway to realise it. Before either of the other two 
could stop him, he had stumbled over to the wall and 
caught hold of the frame of an unoffending Medici print 
which hung rather high. To reach it he climbed on to 
the lowest shelf of the bookcase which stood beneath, with 
the result that he lost his balance and fell backwards in 
a shower of books and shelves, grasping still with his 
right hand the picture, which he tore so violently from 
the wall that cord and nail came away with it, spitting 
a rain of plaster upon the chaotic heap below. 

Hugh completely lost his temper. 

“ Oh, for God’s sake, get out !” he shouted, and tried 
to hustle the recumbent Geoffrey towards the door. This, 
eventually, with the help of Cyril, he managed to do, 
for dazed and sobered momentarily by the fall he 
offered little resistance to their efforts. Once in the 
passage, Cyril took command, and Hugh, fuming with 
rage slammed back into the room to repair, so far as 
was possible, the damage which had been done to his 
furniture. 

Though matters had gone already far enough, it is 
possible that the affair might even then have blown over 
had not the gods determined to play the farce out to its 
conclusion. Hugh spent half an hour in an attempt to 
straighten out the confusion on his carpet, and then, as 
a return to work was out of the question, switched off 
the light, and stamped, still raging, upstairs to bed. 
As he passed Cyril’s sitting-room the door opened and 
Geoffrey stumbled out on to the landing. He had 
obviously been drinking again, and the penitent mood 
which had been upon him half an hour earlier had given 
place to pugnacity. 


A CITY IN THE FOREGROUND 269 

“ Loo* here,” he said, “when I take trouble to *pogolise, 
why hell can’ you b’lieve li’ gen’lemen, ’stead of knock- 
ing me ’bout ?” 

Cyril, rather frightened in the background, attempted 
remonstrance, but ventured no more drastic intervention. 

Had Hugh been in a calmer frame of mind, he would 
have realised that the only possible thing to do was to 
ignore the interruption and go straight up to bed. But 
by this time he was, quite excusably, in a towering rage, 
and utterly incapable of behaving rationally. 

“ Don’t talk about gentlemen, for the Lord’s sake,” he 
shouted. “ If you must make a beast of yourself, why 
can’t you do it in your own room instead of blundering 
about like a drunken bull and smashing up my furni- 
ture ?” 

Geoffrey flushed a dark crimson to the roots of his 
hair. 

“ Who says I’m drunk ?” he said with sudden un- 
expected clarity of speech. 

“ Gracious heaven, you don’t think you’re sober do 
you ?” 

“ I’m not going to be told I’m drunk by you.” 

“ You know you’re drunk, just about as drunk as you 
can be. I don’t know why I’ve stood it for so long; 
you never think of anyone but yourself, you make the 
place intolerable for anyone who won’t do exactly what 
you like every moment of the day and night. Vni 
finished with it at any rate. You can find somebody 
else to occupy your dining-room !” 

“ Al’ ri,’ get out ! an’ a dam’ goo’ riddance too. Only 
don’ go calling me drunk, because I won’ stan’ tha’ 
sorrof thing, d’you see ?” and Geoffrey lurched forward 
with a threatening air of violence. 


2;o A CITY IN THE FOREGROUND 

For a moment the two stood staring at one another, 
both too angry, and one too drunk to find further words. 
There was something ludicrous in the very indefinite- 
ness of the situation. Before a blow could be struck, 
Cyril caught hold of Geoffrey round the waist and, true 
to the role of mediator, which on this occasion he had 
chosen to fill, pulled him back into the room. 

“ Shut up for heaven’s sake,” he said, “you’ll wake up 
the whole house in a minute,” and he slammed the door. 

Hugh, left alone, stood for a moment staring furiously 
after the vanished pair, then slowly he continued his 
journey to bed. 

* * m * * 

There was no attempt next day at reconciliation. Not 
a word was said to recall the scene of the previous night, 
but it was impossible to pretend that things were 
normal. Each one of the three men felt the sullenness 
of the atmosphere about the house intolerable, like the 
closeness of thunder, but each was unwilling to be the 
first to put his feelings into words. Hugh was careful 
to go out directly after breakfast, and, by careful 
manoeuvring, to avoid the other two until late in the 
evening. About nine o’clock he knocked at Geoffrey’s 
door. 

The discussion that followed was friendly, but there 
was no attempt to avoid the inevitable. Hugh definitely 
stated his intention to leave the digs at the end of the 
term. At first he had been anxious to go at once, but, 
upon consideration, he decided, in view of the inconveni- 
ence to himself and Mrs. Grahame involved in a hurried 
departure, to delay the change until after Christmas. 
Cyril had registered a half-hearted protest against any 
change being made, but it was more from a sense of 


A CITY IN THE FOREGROUND 2;i 

politeness than because he really believed it possible to 
continue the original arrangement. As Hugh said : 

“It’s simply been a question the whole time of when 
we were going to lose our tempers. We didn’t realise 
that it was so until too late, but it was bound to come 
to that. So long as we didn’t let fly about our differ- 
ences we could manage to rub along, but it’s too 
dangerous to risk a repetition of last night, and we all 
know that, try though we might to avoid it, there would 
be repetition some time right enough.” 

Geoffrey nodded. “ It’s perfectly true,” he said, “ we 
can’t go on.” And then with one of his sudden bursts 
of smiling generosity, which even at this last moment, 
wiped out all Hugh’s memory of the egoism and in- 
tolerance that had made this term a misery, he added : 
“ And it’s been my fault from the beginning. I’m 
damned sorry, Hugh, I really am : I’ve behaved intoler- 
ably, not only last night, but the whole time.” 

Hugh felt his resolution waver, but he pulled himself 
together with an effort. It was just because, in the first 
instance, he had allowed himself to be won over by 
Geoffrey’s moments of charm to act against his own 
reason, that all this had happened. He took the 
proffered hand, and left the room without a word. 

The next afternoon he set out dig hunting once again, 
this time alone. 


CHAPTER XVIII 


Undergraduates, who had never been driven by 
poverty to embrace the minimum standard of comfort, 
were accustomed at one time to express scorn for the 
red-brick villas of outer Oxford in which the poor and 
studious so often sought their cramped lodgings. Hugh 
had never even tried to visualise himself as one of so 
“ suburban ” a circle, and yet, when the necessity caught 
him unaware and flung him into the “ loneliness and 
mire ” of the Iffley Road, he faced the change not only 
with resignation, but even with the glowing, perverted, 
joy of the martyr. Many reasons contributed to his 
choice of an asylum. In the first place it is difficult to 
find accommodation in the middle of the academic year, 
and nothing near the centre of the city seemed to be 
vacant. Further, a term such as he had spent in Broad 
Street, though not ruinous in the sense of presenting 
melodramatic vistas, had been sufficiently lavish to make 
retrenchment advisable. Finally, he felt it necessary 
to put as much space, both sentimental and geographical, 
between himself and the scene of late disaster, and what 
could be further apart in both senses than Broad Street 
and the Iffley Road? At the beginning of the Easter 
term therefore he settled into the ground floor set of 
“ Ben Nevis,” a small brick house forming part of a 
terrace built and named, apparently, by an architect of 
Caledonian sympathies though presumably of English 
272 


A CITY IN THE FOREGROUND 273 

parentage. Each gate in the row had been christened 
in fond memory of some striking feature of Scottish 
scenery. Thus Hugh was flanked by “ Ben Lomond ” 
and “ Ben More,” and beyond these, in either direction, 
stretched villas whose names bore witness to the fervent 
Gaelic devotion of their creator. It amused Hugh to 
picture the tortured enthusiast wrestling in loneliness 
with map and guide book, and casting away in the last 
agony such adventitious aids to invention to trace in 
triumph on the final porch the supreme production of 
his genius, “ Ben Hur.” 

After the first strangeness was past, Hugh settled 
down happily enough. His landlady looked upon him 
as her own child, and though such devotion was apt to 
become trying at times, it made certainly in the long run 
for comfort. The neighbourhood was quiet, and the 
vision of trees across the way, and rich green water 
meadows, gave a sensation of rural peace and freshness 
that was a pleasant change after the bell-haunted rest- 
lessness of the city. 

“It is rather like moving to Ealing after living in 
Piccadilly,” Hugh wrote to John, “ and I am trying to 
cultivate the suburban mind.” 

To one as sensitive to the influences of locality as he 
was, the change thus lightly indicated was real and 
violent enough. Hugh felt himself, in a sense, an exile, 
and the elusive charm of Oxford grew in his imagina- 
tion as something now more than ever withdrawn and 
alluring as the evening panorama of her towers against 
the west. He fought valiantly to trample discontent, 
telling himself repeatedly that it was ungrateful and 
illogical to complain of the isolation into which he had 
voluntarily withdrawn. At least he was his own 


274 A CITY IN THE FOREGROUND 

master : he could work undisturbed, and live in comfort 
at a cost of about half of what he had formerly con- 
sidered necessary. And yet, as he wandered lonely 
about the streets of an afternoon, he was conscious of the 
old pain, of all the old desires, now further than ever 
from fulfilment. Surely nobody ever desired more 
wholeheartedly than he to taste the full flavour of 
Oxford, nor had anybody found the ideal so impossible 
of attainment. At moments he was weak enough to 
regret Geoffrey and Cyril. With them, whatever the 
disadvantages, he was at least at the heart of the place, 
whereas now he was little better than an outcast. This 
constantly recurring mood he did at last brace himself 
to throw off. The situation had been intolerable, and 
he had done right to cut the knot. He must reconcile 
himself to the necessity of suffering the drawbacks of 
his own miserable character. He would, he knew, never 
be really contented with anything, never turn an un- 
questioning face to life, and yet never be able to probe 
sufficiently to the causes of his discontent, to master and 
turn them to his own uses. In some such ecstasy of 
plausible resignation he would drive himself to escape 
the discomfort of his thoughts. While it lasted the 
mood was satisfying, and he would tramp home to an 
evening’s work strengthened and cheered by his excur- 
sion into self pity. But the relief was only temporary. 
Deceive himself as he might, the pain was there. This 
was not Oxford, this was not the life that Oxford ought 
to give. True enough, there were hundreds who found 
in the University nothing more than the Iffley Road, 
happy to spend their years at books and lectures, dream- 
ing only of a good degree, thinking only of the end to 
which they could turn the advantages of a “ superior ” 


A CITY IN THE FOREGROUND 275 

education. To these men Hugh’s self torture would 
have been unintelligible ; his ideals, even if he had been 
able to make them for a moment articulate, without 
meaning. For most of them education was a perfectly 
definite, almost tangible, object. Certain cramped years 
of their lives they laid aside for its acquirement, and 
by the attainment of certain ends they judged the 
degree of their proficiency. From northern England 
and, in particular, from Scotland, they flowed south 
yearly in an ever growing stream. They chose Oxford 
or Cambridge, rather than newer and more accessible 
centres, for perfectly clear and demonstrable reasons. 
A few among them were frankly snobs, and sought the 
social advantages that tradition is supposed to give. 
The majority were something far worse, “ level-headed ” 
men, who sought to gain in the prestige of culture a 
financial asset for a future career of sordid routine. A 
few came desiring earnestly to learn, but with all the 
unimaginative narrowness of the socially aggressive 
which turns to the collection of facts as to the hoarding 
of gems, and finds in atmosphere nothing but a waste 
of time and an obstacle to study. All had in common 
at least one characteristic, the belief that “ advantages,” 
whether social, financial, or academic, could be picked 
up, counted and locked away, like so many pebbles. 
They did not come to “ find ” Oxford, nor was their 
attitude even one of surrender or adoration. Their 
complaints against the University were almost solely 
that it excluded too many from joining in the hunt. 
They declaimed against the teaching of classics, ques- 
tioned the value of college loyalties, waxed eloquent in 
the condemnation of youthful extravagance and eccen- 
tricities which, as a matter of fact, far more than bulg- 


2;6 A CITY IN THE FOREGROUND 

ing notebooks and regular attendance at lectures, show 
the vitality of the growing mind. They clamoured for 
‘‘commercial diplomas,” and for the “modernising of 
the curriculum,” forgetful of the truth that in this age 
of effortless release from what are often imaginary 
prisons, the only things worth fighting to preserve are 
barriers. Such at least was Hugh’s verdict, as he daily 
regarded the complacent lives that thronged the red- 
brick fringes of the University world. Great things had 
been done and high sounding things said to further the 
“ democratisation of learning.” What had it all come 
to? To what did this cry of progress amount? In- 
stead of offering the chances of a wider life to all who 
really sought it, did it not strive to build new temples 
to gross and ignoble gods? Instead of driving new 
roads to the mountains, was it not in reality trying to 
level all the hills, to blow into a featureless plain the 
heights from which alone the eye could see the infinite 
horizons ? These men, who claimed as their right a 
share in the treasures of culture and education, were, by 
the very clamour which they raised, deafening their ears 
to the softer sound they sought to hear. What they 
wanted was not Oxford, but a new thing made in their 
own image. They wished, not to fling wide the city 
gates, but to demolish her very walls, to tear down her 
buildings stone by stone that they might build they 
knew not what. And in his heart Hugh envied them. 
Better even to break the walls and burn the temples 
than to sit for ever a suppliant by the roadside because 
he could find no path by which to enter in. He had 
been a stranger in the market place with the sound of 
ceaseless bells about him, and the beauty of grey spires 
before his eyes, and here, outside, he was still a stranger. 


A CITY IN THE FOREGROUND 277 

with that aching sense of intangible beauty still in his 
heart and the gates locked fast against him. 

Often of an afternoon he would walk out to the neigh- 
bouring hills and there, with the city beneath him, 
pursue the windings of his jaundiced thoughts. From 
Headington or Cumnor he would survey the scattered 
labyrinth of roofs, and find in the material scene an 
indication of the spiritual problem with which his mind 
was busy. Small and compact and grey, the core of the 
place seemed to him smothered more completely year 
by year by acres of stretching brick that by its gaudi- 
ness accentuated the contrast of the scene. It seemed 
that those streets and streets of villas clustered no longer 
to the centre, but pointed away from it in all directions 
to London and the great cities of the Midlands. They 
drained the heart’s blood into divers channels and 
threatened soon to leave nothing but an empty shell 
where life had been. Thrown, as he now was, upon his 
own resources, Hugh found himself drifting more and 
more into the circles of residential Oxford, as opposed 
to those of his own contemporaries. In his first term he 
had become inextricably involved, even in the begin- 
ning against his better judgment, in the interests and 
recreations of the elderly, and a natural weakness of 
character which made it difficult to refuse invitations 
resulted in an even more complete absorption in a 
world which, though really alien to all his feelings 
and desires, did in a sense appeal to certain perverse 
inherited instincts in his nature. That it was a kind 
world he did not, for a moment, doubt. For him 
the Winstanley family stood as its symbol. Every- 
thing that Aunt Gloria had said of it was true. Mrs. 
Winstanley “ meant well with every nerve and sinew 


2;8 A CITY IN THE FOREGROUND 

of her body. She took an almost sensudus delight in 
doing her duty, but, unfortunately, it was part of her 
creed that nothing which was not “ done,” or at least 
approved by her, could be considered a duty at all 
She had grown to look on Oxford as an institution of 
which she was the matron, though by some strange 
oversight her post had never been officially confirmed. 
She was clear sighted enough to realise that without 
Oxford she would have been nothing, but a fatal habit 
of thought had long ago led her to postulate the 
corollary that Oxford without her would be, if not 
nothing, very much less “ significant ” (she would have 
said) than it now was. Her energy was unquenchable, 
and finding no outlet in the legitimate activities of the 
academic world, sought to bring into it interests and 
hobbies that did not strictly belong to ft. From among 
her friends and enemies she recruited a formidable army 
of support. Even her enemies only accentuated the 
general evil, for they attacked her pre-eminence not by 
questioning the value to the University of such out- 
side influences, but by striving to create an opposition 
that, by proving its own superiority, should destroy her 
personal ascendency. In a way these things had their 
value. They did at least make impossible the con- 
tinuance of those corrupt and sluggish Common Rooms 
which had been the disgrace of eighteenth century 
Oxford, but at the same time they threatened to destroy 
the old ideal of male companionship and the intensity 
of life which alone would justify the continued 
existence of the older universities. The point of 
emphasis was slowly but surely shifting from the city 
to the suburbs, with the result that a movement started 
under the plausible banner of progress was daily gain- 


A CITY IN THE FOREGROUND 279 

ing ground and would, so Hugh feared, end inevitably 
by replacing Oxford by a polytechnic. 

The real cause of the trouble lay perhaps not in the 
first place with the Mrs. Winstanleys, but with the 
academic authorities. How stubbornly they refused to 
allow play to imagination, to visualise the needs of a 
generation, which they should lead, but at whose coat- 
tails they still dragged ignominiously ! At new interests 
and adventures of the mind they looked askance, with 
the result that it was left to others to provide the food 
for which the young brains hungered. In vain for vice- 
chancellors to deplore the influences of the twentieth 
century, useless to accuse the railways of breaking into 
the sacred precincts of the academic grove. Instead of 
turning to their own uses the opportunities of intenser 
life thus opened. to them, they allowed the vitality which 
should have animated the very heart of Oxford to get 
drawn away to interests and activities that, by lack of 
sympathy, were forced to subsist in an alien atmosphere. 
An easy target for the archers of reform ! and the arrows 
were beginning to fall fast and straight. But at present 
they all came from one quarter ; the army of the 
“moderns,” the commercialists, the business men, had 
buckled on their armour, but was the gift they had to 
offer worth the destruction of the foe they sought to 
bring to bay ? Hugh had no doubt of the answer here. 
Reform must be the breathing of new life into Oxford, 
of making her once more an inspiration and a lover, not 
by mutilating her and painting her from bureaucratic 
pots. Of course there were movements afoot. Balliol, 
New College, Knox, they at least prided themselves on 
a modernity of outlook. They taught for teaching’s 
sake, and not for classes in the schools ; they encouraged 


28 o a city in the foreground 

speculation, they elected dons who called the under- 
graduates by Christian names. But did this ultimately 
solve the difficulty? It helped, it gave something, it 
made of Oxford a place of thought, of life, of move- 
ment, but it left out of account much that must be con- 
sidered. It relied too much on those that brought 
treasure with them ; it gave too little to those who came 
seeking with empty hands, revelling over much in criti- 
cism, replacing too little with constructive teaching. The 
old Oxford clung obstinately to ancient dogma, this 
younger Oxford feared all dogma too completely. It 
was terrified of generalisation, oblivious of the fact that 
that is what young minds seek. If they are not given 
it, they will find it for themselves, and to Hugh the 
salvation for this place he loved must be in finding new 
certainties which it could give to those who sought. No 
matter that they might deny them later, better that they 
should have them than have nothing but encouragement 
to drift. Oxford must be a school, must take an attitude 
to life. Her teachers must teach and her pupils learn, 
only then could she win back the questioning spirits 
that sought at present outside her bounds for the satis- 
factions that they could not find within. Year by year 
the gulf between teachers and taught was growing, and 
it must be bridged, not by the Creightons, who gave 
nothing and took much, but by the men who imposed 
their personalities, men who could lead movements of 
thought and conduct, who could inspire disciples and 
stiffen the uncertain. Oxford must take the elements of 
the world of each succeeding generation, and, by show- 
ing its eagerness and love for youth, pour out inspira- 
tion and encouragement like wine. As things were at 
present, young minds, anxious to make all knowledge 


A CITY IN THE FOREGROUND 281 

their province, young ears, deafened already by the dis- 
cordant cries of a world grown voluble, found less and 
less with which to satisfy themselves. 

♦ * * * ♦ 

Despite the somewhat Byronic attitude to life which 
Hugh at this time adopted, he was by no means without 
friends. At moments of acute physical discomfort or 
mental despondency, when for instance he was battling 
down Holywell in the face of a tearing easterly gale, or 
facing the reality of approaching schools over a dying 
fire, he liked to picture himself as a forlorn figure 
wandering, unloved and unrecognised, through scenes full 
of poignant memories. In saner moments, however, he 
could not help smiling, if somewhat wryly, at this 
monstrous phantom, half “ Scholar Gipsy,” half “ Childe 
Harold,” whose antics, in the borrowed shoes and clothes 
of Hugh Kenyon, he could fortunately view at times with 
humorous detachment. 

For a week or two after he first took up his residence 
at “ Ben Nevis” he did, as a matter of fact, avoid, with 
conscious care, the society of his fellows. He was too 
sensitive to continue his life as though no change had 
occurred, and for days he took care not to go near Knox 
for fear of meeting somebody who, by a look or, still 
worse, by a word of condemnation or sympathy, might 
touch, however lightly, the still open wound. As the 
term grew older this particular form of morbidity be- 
came less pronounced, and with the early spring he 
found himself once more entertaining and entertained, 
as though nothing at all had happened. He began to 
realise that even his earliest fears might have been un- 
founded, and that the adventure of three men in lodg- 


282 A CITY IN THE FOREGROUND 

ings does not necessarily thrill an undergraduate com- 
munity to the exclusion of other interests. Geoffrey he 
knew, whatever his faults, was not petty. He would 
have avoided carefully any discussion of the matter with 
all but his most intimate friends, possibly refusing even 
to them the satisfaction of gossiping about his affairs. 
Of Cyril he was less sure, but he realised that the fear of 
Geoffrey’s tongue would make, in his case, an admirable 
substitute for conscience, so that there was little reason 
to suppose the upheavals of 55 a, Broad Street common 
property in the college. Naturally enough, he did not 
at first see much of either Geoffrey or Cyril, but by 
March the tension was sufficiently relaxed to allow of 
their meeting without the fear of undue embarrassment. 
Naturally also it was to other friends that he turned 
so soon as the earliest period of moping was over. There 
were still Harold, Charles and Theodor, but nobody 
could quite replace John Delmeage, who had gone down 
at the end of the summer to lead, in Bloomsbury, the 
hybrid life of journalist and art student. To him Hugh 
wrote regularly and at length, finding in his replies one 
of the chief pleasures of this new phase of his existence. 
With great difficulty he was tempted to Oxford for a 
week-end, and the two men spent happy hours tramp- 
ing together the sodden flats of Dorchester and Nettle- 
bed, and climbing to the twin clumps of Wittenham. 
They did not speak of Creighton or of Surrey. John 
fitted easily and at once into the new arrangements of 
Hugh’s life, nor showed at all by word or look that he 
was conscious of anything new and unexpected in his 
friend’s surroundings. As a fitting culmination to the 
visit a party was arranged at “ Ben Nevis” for Sunday 
night. To it came Charles, as of old, immaculate and 


A CITY IN THE FOREGROUND 283 

dainty, Harold and Theodor, who, having taken his pre- 
destined “ first ” with the minimum of excitement, had 
decided to remain in Oxford for some time in pursuance 
of some involved political plan, the nature of which he 
refused to divulge to a soul. 

Charles, who found it difficult to maintain silence for 
long under any circumstances, showed his sense of the 
tact demanded by the situation by launching forth into 
voluble praise of everything he saw. 

“Oh, my dear !” he began on the very threshold, “how 
too delightfully surprising ! A real piece of Victorian 
genre; why, it*s perfectly entrancing. I simply must 
have a real horsehair sofa and wax fruit under a glass 
bell ! I’ll make Oswald move next term : the High’s 
dreadfully bourgeois now.” 

“ Easier is it for a Camel to — become old than for 
rich young undergraduates to enter the Iffley Road,” 
murmured Harold from the sofa upon which, eternally 
true to his character, he had stretched himself at length 
as soon as he had entered the room. “You mustn’t do 
it, Charles, the very idea hurts my scheme of artistic 
fitness. You’d have to ride a bicycle, everyone rides 
bicycles here, don’t they, Hugh ? and then what would 
become of those beautifully creased trousers? I shall 
never forgive you, Charles, if you ride a bicycle.” 

“ Oh but, my dear, I should never want to go out at 
all; I should sit all day contemplating the enlarged 
photograph of my landlady.” 

“ There’s a better one in my bedroom, in the artist’s 
earlier manner,” laughed Hugh. 

“ If you want to see the e 25 o 9 of which this is only 
the shadow in the cave, you must come round to my 
digs in town before I turn them inside out,” said John. 


284 A CITY IN THE FOREGROUND 

“ Wax fruit and horsehair is nothing in Bloomsbury.* 
Tve got a Berlin wool fire screen, marbled wall paper, and 
a bottled ship. I had a terrible fight with my landlady 
before she’d allow me to put up chintz curtains in place 
of red rep. I’m winning her to salvation, though, slowly 
but surely.” 

*‘Oh, but you can’t be doing anything so perfectly 
horrid ! chintz in such a room ! mats c'est une sacrilege 

“ My dear Charles, you have the virtues of modern 
drama without its vice, allurement minus dullness : I 
don’t find you changed at all.” 

“I don’t altogether like this talk of chintz, John,” 
drawled Theodor. “ I gathered that you were search- 
ing for the beauty of poverty, or was it perhaps the 
poverty of beauty, I really get so confused with all you 
clever young men. I certainly imagined that you read 
Miirger by candle light, and made platonic love to con- 
sumptive models. I beg your pardon if I was wrong. 
It’s all terribly difficult.” 

And so, far into the night, they sat and smoked, and 
talked nonsense, while deep in the mind of each was 
the unspoken thought treasured by every third year 
undergraduate since the days of Alfred: “We are the 
last of a generation of giants, poor Oxford ! it will never 
again see our peers !” 


CHAPTER XIX 


With the beginning of the summer term, Hugh decided 
at the advice of his tutor to postpone his schools for yet 
another year. The winter had been disturbing, and by 
the time that his body had become accustomed to new 
quarters and his mind acclimatised to strange condi- 
tions, he found himself lamentably behindhand with his 
work. A year ago he would have jumped at the idea 
of lengthening his Oxford time by three terms, but now 
the extension meant so little to him that he would 
willingly have relinquished it had not circumstances 
made it necessary. It promised indeed little but twelve 
months of uninspired labour wherewith to fulfil the fond 
prophecies of his family and the expectations of his 
college. It offered little prospect of enjoyment. The 
agonies to which he had been a prey after his break 
with Geoffrey had found relief mainly in the presence 
of many friends. So long as parties like the one in 
honour of the returning John were still possible, life 
could not be altogether drab. He could feel at such 
moments that the genius of the place, though she escaped 
the full passion of his embrace, did leave a fragment of 
her garment in his clutching fingers. Looking back 
from the tragic years so soon, had he but known it, to 
seize and hold him, he could not but admit that during 
his Easter term at “Ben Nevis ” he had, despite the un- 
promising start and the despair he had taken with him 
285 


286 A CITY IN TH£ FOREGROUND 

into exile, got nearer to the Oxford of his dreams than 
ever before. Perhaps the fact that he was no longer 
“ in ” the place had helped. The criticism which in sad- 
ness he had made to John on the upper river was true 
enough. He never loved Oxford so much as when he 
was away from it, and the fate which had driven him 
from what, in his first disappointment, he had been 
tempted to regard as paradise, rewarded him, paradoxi- 
cally enough, by giving him a stronger union with the 
spirit when the body was less close. 

But now, all that was changed. Harold would go 
down, so would Charles. They might, for all social 
purposes, be gone already, so feverishly were they work- 
ing for examinations now uncomfortably close. Nobody 
would be left in whom he took the slightest interest. 
He remembered vividly seeing in his first year strange 
solitary figures to whom no one spoke, men pointed out 
to him in Hall as members of the college, who, having 
attained to an incredible seniority, still lingered on, be- 
longing to no generation, fitting nowhere into the pattern 
of college life. Few seemed to remember even their 
names. They flitted about the quad to and from their 
tutors, they came occasionally to chapel, but for most of 
the term they were hidden away in obscure lodging 
houses where they pursued mysterious courses of end- 
less learning which no examination seemed capable of 
crowning. This was what he too would become. To 
such a prospect he turned a sentimental and a maudlin 
eye, moist already with easy tears. Had his promised 
friendship with Creighton matured, he would have felt 
that one link at least still held him to the college. The 
‘ Camel * had been a cruel disappointment, though Hugh 
had to admit that he too possibly had hardly come up 


A CITY IN THE FOREGROUND 28; 

to sample. For him there would never be an em- 
blazoned panel by the fireplace, and, to do him justice, 
he did not particularly wish that there should be. At 
the same time, Hugh did feel that fate might have been 
kinder. As one of ‘ Camel’s ’ intimates he would have 
had the comfortable consciousness of belonging to a 
society, like the Church of Rome, eternal. It would have 
given him a definite place and a definite set of interests 
and affections. Of course it was useless to rail at 
fortune, but he could not help watching with rather bitter 
amusement while Creighton, irrepressible as ever, re- 
cruited new friends from the handsome and the elegant 
of each succeeding generation, attracting the attractive, 
repelling the shy, unchanging in his endless endeavour 
to ward off the menace of advancing years. 

One May morning he discovered, like Crusoe, that he 
was not condemned to utter solitude. Walking rather 
aimlessly along the High he suddenly saw Colquhoun, 
in all the splendour of spats and a waisted coat, crossing 
the road to meet him. 

“Hullo!” he said. “What are you doing here? I 
thought you’d gone down.” 

“ No, I’m stopping up till July, reading law and doing 
odd jobs. As a sociologist and a politician, my dear 
Hugh, I take a professional interest in watching the life 
of the provinces. I find much pleasure in observing 
cherubic schoolboys running about the streets of a 
mediaeval market town with the erroneous idea that they 
are seeing life.” 

“ Well, I shall come to lunch with you, and you can 
tell me the result of your studies.” 

The “ odd jobs,” Hugh discovered over coffee, seemed 
to involve a considerable amount of journalism, and 


288 A CITY IN THE FOREGROUND 


some political intrigue. From certain dark hints he 
gathered that “ The Party ” (presumably, but not neces- 
sarily, the same party as twelve months previously) had 
a great belief in Theodor as a coming man, and that 
it was part of a far-reaching national programme that 
he should keep an eye on the baby publicists of the 
University. This, at least, was the idea that Theodor 
himself attempted to convey, and Hugh was too happy 
at meeting a friend to question deeply the probability 
of his assertions. 

After luncheon the great man unbent still further. 

“ I went to see John the other day,” he said ; “ it is as 
I feared : he has fallen a prey to the first infirmity of 
Oxford minds — ^he is writing an Oxford novel.” 

“I know, it*s rather good.” 

“ Horribly good ! It is guilty of the worst vice of 
modern fiction, it is true to nature. Why, as he read 
I could almost smell the college kitchen and hear the 
brilliant platitudes of the Congreve. He has had the 
good sense, however, to remember some of my remarks 
with remarkable fidelity. I come out rather well so far.” 

“ Theodor, you^re incurable ! As a matter of fact 
you’re fated to figure in every Oxford novel for the next 
twenty years, and you’ve no one to blame but yourself.” 

“ Of course I am : I’m keeping a bookshelf especially 
for them. I’m a little doubtful at present whether to 
catalogue them according to their accuracy of quotation 
or the degree of moral degeneracy with which they 
credit me.” 

“Well, I suppose it’s as good as any other form ot 
biography.” 

“Better, far better. People talk about you infinitely 
more as the villain of an indifferent novel than as the 


A CITY IN THE FOREGROUND 289 

protagonist of a good memoir. Besides, it saves one the 
labour of keeping a diary.” 

“Did you meet many people at John’s?” 

“ The place was full of faces, and I found them a little 
difficult to disentangle. So far as I could make out, 
the men fell into two natural classes : those who passed 
their wives off as their mistresses, and those who called 
their mistresses their wives. The women were indis- 
tinguishable. Of course it was rather puzzling at first, 
but I soon settled down.” 

They smoked in silence for a minute or two. 
Suddenly Theodor began again to speak, with one of 
those sudden changes of tone well known to his friends. 
He dropped his drawl and became eager and quite 
simple in his excitement. 

“ Did I tell you I’ve been commissioned to do a book 
on the Hundred Years’ War?” he asked; “that’s one of 
the reasons I’m up here this term. I’ve done about ten 
thousand words so far, and it’s pretty good. Coming out 
in the winter I think. I’ll read you the first chapter if 
you’re not doing anything in particular this afternoon.” 
Without giving Hugh time to protest, he pulled a sheaf 
of manuscript off his writing table and settled down in 
his armchair. 

* * m * Hr 

With schools another twelve months removed and a 
friend at hand, Hugh allowed himself to enjoy the 
summer as he had not done since his first year. Theodor 
and he chartered a punt and spent the greater part of 
every afternoon beneath the willows of the Cher. Occa- 
sionally they persuaded Harold to join them for a few 
hours, but conscience chained him too firmly to his work 
to allow of his being a frequent member of the party. 

19 


290 A CITY IN THE FOREGROUND 

There were, as Hugh had suspected, other reasons 
than his book that kept Colquhoun in Oxford. He was 
fond of explaining at length, and very much in the first 
person, that politics as well as trade depended upon the 
law of supply and demand, that by regulating his 
utterances and timing his appearances to a nicety he 
was creating in Oxford, and incidentally within the 
ranks of the mysterious “Party,” an influence which 
bade fair to force him at an early age into the ranks 
of the Cabinet — or the opposition, whichever at the 
critical moment offered the best prospect for brilliant 
new-comers. He gave the impression that his life at 
present was made up of plots and counterplots in which 
even the most eminent politicians of the day were willing 
to defer to his powers of initiative and leadership. He 
loved to picture himself as holding in his hands the 
ends of innumerable strings : still more did he love 
telling his friends about them. His official appearances 
at the Union and the various clubs had of late become 
rare, but when they were considered necessary their 
timing was so precise, their effects so exquisitely man- 
oeuvred, that the leading brains of the University 
humbled themselves in adoration or impotent chagrin 
before the sudden splendour of these renewed activities. 
Such at least was the “ portrait of the artist ” dashed in 
with a glowing brush, and after a while Hugh found 
it easy enough to smile uncritically before the canvas. 
Theodor’s colossal vanity could be fed with the minimum 
amount of spoken praise. He was easily pleased, and it 
was hard to withhold from him the crumbs which gave 
him such supreme satisfaction. At first Hugh had 
caught himself in fits of too easy irritation, but he soon 
realised that if he held aloof from Theodor he was con- 


A CITY IN THE FOREGROUND 291 

demned to all the dreariness of solitude, and he set 
about making the best of his friend’s faults. Nor did 
he hnd this, after all, so difficult. Theodor only grated 
on one’s nerves if one listened to him. It was easy 
enough, with a little practice, to drive the punt slowly 
down stream through the scents and early heats of 
summer, and so to attune one’s ear that the droning 
voice became one with the hum and buzz of insects. In 
fact, after a time, he began to listen for the particular 
note as something which he would miss were it absent, 
something that was part of the complex background of 
June. At times, of course, the voice would assert itself, 
it was impossible completely to guard against that, but 
then it did quite often say things that were really amus- 
ing, often enough at least to balance the account with 
those other moments in which it jarred on every nerve 
in one’s body, and made one want to upset punt, 
passenger, and all into the river. At such moments the 
sudden vision of wreck became almost a temptation. 
What fun to see Theodor in the water ! Probably he 
couldn’t swim, and even if he could the situation would 
not show him to the best advantage. How absurd he 
would look, spluttering and blowing, with wet hair 
daubed about his eyes ! . . . 

And so this strangely assorted pair drifted through 
the term, fl.ung together into a degree of intimacy which 
neither would consciously have sought, differing in 
almost every particulcir, and yet getting along remark- 
ably well; Theodor satisfied if only he could ensure 
an audience docile enough to listen eternally to his 
solo; Hugh, despite those moments of wild irritation, 
despite visions of suddenly capsized punts and flounder- 
ing half drowned egotists, conscious all the time that 


292 A CITY IN THE FOREGROUND 

he was envying as well as despising, with that envy, 
never quite lost, of the definite, the sure, the clear cut. 
This, after all, was what Oxford — the Oxford outside 
his hopelessly fanciful dreams — had come to mean for 
him, had always in a sense meant for him; the com- 
panionship of men who found in it a stage for their own 
play, while he, barren of inspiration, was waiting always 
for the curtain to go up on the masterpiece. He remem- 
bered now quite clearly how, when he was confirmed at 
school, he had always half expected, in those excitable 
emotional days, a revelation, the sudden vision of a new 
inspired life. He remembered the headmaster’s warn- 
ing to candidates against that very expectation, and 
yet it had remained stubbornly fixed, only, of course, to 
be disappointed. Some such vice of idealising facts 
would dog him always. Here at Oxford it had haunted 
him, tortured him, and left him now not exactly dis- 
illusioned (he had never with his mind believed the 
promise), but emptied of the emotions it had evoked 
without fulfilling. Last winter he had suffered torments. 
He had felt himself cut off from even the shadow of 
his dreams, but now all that was over, and he could 
afford to laugh at those bad months and make the best 
of whatever the year might have in store for him. 


CHAPTER XX 


In the middle of July, Hugh fled from the concentrated 
attentions of his family and settled down for a month’s 
hard work at “Ben Nevis.” Oxford out of term time 
attracted him now as it never had before. In his earlier 
years he had been always among the first to leave it when 
the ‘ vacs ’ came round. It had seemed to him then that 
with the emptying of the colleges there came a coma 
upon the city : the heart beat faintly and the blood ran 
slow. He could not bear the place deserted of young 
men. But now he felt that Oxford spoke to him in her 
solitude. Stripped of the struggle and noise of the acci- 
dental, she taught him her secret rhythms. In the heavy 
stillness of July, he thought to catch at least a whisper 
of the voice that he longed to hear, to see in the solitary 
spaces of her streets the hidden meaning of her counten- 
ance, and, to some extent, he both heard and saw. For 
days together his restlessness would leave h^m, and he 
would find in the deserted city a peace and comfort of 
which he had long despaired. Nobody that he knew 
was “ up,” and he explored old haunts anew with a feel- 
ing that never until then had he seen them aright. His 
old idea of the place as sinking into slumber with the end 
of term, changed insensibly. He began to see it instead 
stirring with the gentle promptings of a life that could 
not wake amidst the noise and business of every day, a 
life which seemed to call forth sympathies in him for 
which, at other times, he searched in vain, 

293 


294 A CITY IN THE FOREGROUND 

Week after week he stayed, and it was in Oxford, 
appropriately enough, that the war caught him. So 
sunk had be been of late in his own thoughts and fancies 
that he had found little time for the affairs of the world. 
His resolution to work had broken down almost at once, 
and day after day, wet or fine, he walked far into the 
country, returning at night with thoughts for little but 
food and sleep. For many days he saw no newspapers, 
and glimpses of placards and scraps of overheard con- 
versation had meant nothing to him, so self-absorbed 
had he become. Walking along the Broad he ran 
suddenly into Geoffrey, who greeted him with wild en- 
thusiasm but little surprise. For two minutes he was 
the target for a volley of words which served merely 
to confuse him. At last, in a moment of pause, he tried 
a question. 

But I don’t understand, what are you doing here ? 
I thought you were in Scotland.” 

‘‘ Scotland ! I came down last night : devilish long 
time it took too, having to let every troop train by, and 
being side-tracked at every other station. I’m just off 
to see the adjutant about a commission.” 

“I must seem a frightful fool, Geoffrey, but honestly 
I don’t know what on earth you’re talking about. I 
haven’t looked at a paper for days.” 

‘‘D’you mean to tell me that you don’t know that 
we’re within twenty-four hours of the biggest war in 
history? France is in it already and Russia: we’ve 
sent an ultimatum, at least that’s the general belief : 
they’re bound to reject it, I hope to God they do, and 
then for one of the finest scraps there’s ever been !” 

" Oh, but it’s all infernal rot ! You can’t seriously 
imagine that Europe’s going to let itself in for a war 
at this time of day : who wants to fight ?” 


A CITY IN THE FOREGROUND 295 

“It has, you old fool, and I do,” laughed Geoffrey, 
and left Hugh speechless, staring into the gutter. 

For the next twenty-four hours he lived in pande- 
monium. The merest glance at a paper showed him 
that Geoffrey had exaggerated nothing. More than the 
immediate news he did not trouble to read, in his present 
state of mind he could have taken in no argument, and 
come to no decision for himself. Every thought he had 
ever had seemed to be buzzing round in his head, con- 
fused, noisy, unattached. He gave up any attempt to 
resume his walks. He noticed suddenly that Oxford was 
full of people, jostling, talking, moving. They were there 
as though they had sprung from the ground. He did not 
remember seeing anybody arrive, and yet now the place 
was full of innumerable familiar faces. There was, too, 
a feeling of happiness in the air, even more noticeable 
than anxiety. Everybody seemed glad that there was 
going to be a war. At the corner of the Turl he met 
a young don from Trinity, a friend of Harold’s, a man 
he knew well as a witty, charming companion, and a 
remarkably brilliant metaphysician. He too, it seemed, 
was off to the adjutant. 

“Hullo, Hugh, come along with me and enlist. I 
believe they’re taking names for the Ox and Bucks. 
I wish I’d joined the O.T.C. I might have been some 
use to them instead of a mere make-weight.” 

“ But, look here,” protested Hugh, “ perhaps things 
are going to clear; it isn’t quite hopeless yet, is it? 
Surely we can avoid war somehow, we must, it’s too 
horrible.” 

“We’re in for it, my boy, we can’t possibly back out 
of it now; and, do you know, it’s a very funny thing, 
but I believe I should be damned disappointed if we did ! 
I expect you think I’m gone mad ; well, everybody’s gone 


296 A CITY IN THE FOREGROUND 

mad. I can’t give you any arguments for what I feel, 
but I do feel it. I’m sick of being a don here ; this is a 
chance to get away, and not a bad way too, kill or cure, 

but definite ” and he was gone before Hugh could 

open his lips to question such heresy from one who had 
always been level-headed to a fault in matters of political 
theory. 

In college the turmoil was just as bad. The crisis 
had caught and interrupted a summer course of working- 
class students, and the quad was full of strange, earnest 
young men and women, in ready-made clothes, who stood 
about discussing furiously the ethics of war. A few, to 
show their aloofness, were talking pointedly of political 
economy, but the pretence was a poor one, and few 
escaped for long the pervading infection of excitement. 
The general attitude, Hugh gathered, was one of ex- 
treme hostility to war in general, and to this war in 
particular. In a distant corner he caught sight of 
Malleson, haranguing an intensely listening group, and 
did not doubt that he was exposing the situation as the 
outcome of capitalistic intrigue and class hostility to 
labour. On the breeze there floated murmurs of a 
general strike, and one bareheaded enthusiast was 
brandishing in defiance a copy of the Daily News. On 
the whole, however, the summer course felt itself plainly 
m a minority, and no attempt was made by its members 
to publish at all widely the doctrine of universal peace. 
A few renegades were actually brave enough to throw 
in their lot with the war party, and one of them was 
delivering an impromptu lecture on foreign politics from 
the porch of the fellows’ library. Only stray sentences 
from this address reached Hugh, but from these it 
appeared that the speaker was pointing out to a much 


A CITY IN THE FOREGROUND 297 

relieved audience that England’s duty was plainly to 
“ hold the ring ” by means of her fleet, and to watch the 
antagonists fight it out under her benevolent auspices. 
Labour, as represented by the audience, was much re- 
lieved, and as the lecturer warmed to his work the 
crowd around him grew. Even the more aloof intellects 
condescended, now that there was no question of fighting 
at issue, to talk vaguely about the European situation. 

Somehow or other, quite irrationally, Hugh felt the 
atmosphere of the quad getting on his nerves, not that 
he could have been accused by his worst enemies of 
chauvinistic leanings. One of his only constant loyal- 
ties had been “ anti-militarism,” as intellectual Oxford 
grandly called it, and now in the recesses of his mind 
he sought for and found his old convictions sound and 
unshaken. The sudden shock of the morning, the see- 
ing in a flash what all the rest of the world had been 
coming to realise for a week past, had intensified and 
quickened all his senses. Ideas tumbled upon one 
another with such violence and rapidity that he could 
almost feel in his head the physical rush and jumble 
of their passage. Visions came to him and went with 
the speed of scenes revealed by lightning. As he walked 
along the streets, heedless of the crowds that surged 
over gutter and kerb, he saw, in the fraction of a second- 
saw as plainly as though his bodily eyes beheld it, far 
more plainly than he ever again saw, even in the height 
of battle — the terror, the misery, the brutality and the 
degradation of war. It was as though Europe was 
stretched beneath him, as though he could take in at a 
glance the nations creeping nearer for the inevitable 
clash. And then Europe was no longer below him, but 
he, naked, impotent and lonely, was isolated on a great 


298 A CITY IN THE FOREGROUND 

plain, while around on every horizon great clouds of 
acrid smoke rose sullenly to the sky, and relentlessly 
the mighty armies moved to the one centre, intent on 
crushing him to powder in the fury of their onset. Once 
again the picture changed, and he could see the waste 
and tortured wreckage in the wake of battle. It needed 
no newspaper eloquence, no detailed photograph to 
bring him to a realisation of the torn earth, and the 
mangled bodies that in his imagination took on so 
vividly the ghastly reality of death. No experience in 
the future, however dreadful, would ever wake in him 
such horror, such panic, as caught and whirled him in 
that imagined scene. For a moment he felt almost 
prophetic. If only he could paint in words the picture 
that tormented him; if only all could realise, even for a 
second, the full horror of what he saw, blind millions 
would be frozen into sudden terror, and the armies 
would stay their marching. 

And yet, vivid though the vision was, loathsome 
beyond all imagining the prospect of death and hatred, 
he found himself illogically fleeing from the sight and 
sound of Knox. Those fierce, eager students in the 
quad were, after all, only stating in cold language what 
he saw by a sort of momentary inspiration ; further, they 
were at least trying to formulate ideas, to stop the 
machine before it had got out of hand, and yet he could 
not bear the sound of their voices nor the sight of their 
faces. There was something about them petty and 
aggressive, something in their talk that, however true 
and irrefutable, seemed nevertheless out of tune with 
the greatness of the theme. Somehow they were saying 
true things from wrong motives, fighting with an army 
of devils on the side of the angels. From them he fled, 
as he fled from the haunting fear of his own dreams. Far 


A CITY IN THE FOREGROUND 299 

better the company of those excited, unthinking young 
fools, who saw in the prospect of war nothing but grand 
adventure, and the release from drab routine. He could 
listen to Geoffrey, to the young Trinity don, to the 
hundred and one friends who were longing to be up and 
doing, with nothing in his heart but a great love and 
boundless compassion. They were wrong, detestably 
wrong, light-hearted because empty-headed in the face 
of misery and disaster, all this he admitted, but better 
a thousand times their error than the truth uttered by 
those from whom he fled. 

In the “ Corn ” he met Harold. Neither showed sur- 
prise. Young Oxford was flocking instinctively back 
to the University at the crisis, and meetings were no 
longer unexpected. 

** Come along to the Union, old man,” Harold said, 
“ theyVe got a tape machine working : Grey’s in the 
middle of his speech.” 

Hugh made no reply, but . took his friend’s arm, and 
together they fought their way through the crowd, up 
the narrow passage by the Clarendon Hotel, into the 
club vestibule where, on huge boards, long typed sheets 
were pinned. The press of people was almost over- 
powering, and the buzz of conversation like the hum of 
innumerable motors. Already a sprinkling of khaki 
was apparent. Officers from the depot and the 
yeomanry, cadets, recruiting officials, mixed with the 
crowd of undergraduates, townsmen and professors, 
surged and murmured round the constantly arriving 
bulletins. As the two struggled through the throng 
they caught scraps of conversation. 

“ They haven’t got Li6ge yet, the Belgians are putting 
up a wonderful show. . . 

. Twenty thousand. I’ve just got it from a fellow 


300 A CITY IN THE FOREGROUND 

who’s been talking to the War Office over the ’phone; 
more, probably the Belgians are shooting them down like 
rabbits. . . 

. Outmarched their transport, roads jammed for 
fifty miles. . . .” 

“ . . . Looks as though we’re going to stand and look 
on ; it’ll be a damned disgrace if we do. . . .” 

"... Grey’s all right, I wasn’t sure when he started, 
but the last section that’s come through looks as though 
he means business. . . 

"... See the Daily News? . . . awful, I’d shoot the 
whole damned crowd. . . .” 

“ . . . Oh, we’re in it, can’t help ourselves ; well, thank 
God, it’s come at last. . . .” 

“. . . Rumour that the fleet’s been in action; damned 
smart bit of work, Winston’s doing. . . .” 

And so on, before even they could get a glimpse of 
those sheets that were spelling out the destiny of the 
world. At last they got to the nearest board, and for 
what seemed hours they read and waited and watched 
for every new strip, elbowed and pushed, bumped and 
bruised by the feet and arms of the ever growing crowd. 
* * * * * 

That evening in an empty room in college, Hugh, 
Geoffrey and Harold waited in silence for midnight. 
As the first of the Oxford clocks boomed the hour, 
Geoffrey jumped to his feet. 

“ War’s declared.” 

Harold held up his hand. 

“ Listen,” he said. 

From the streets came a distant burst of cheering. 

“ Oh, the fools,” murmured Hugh, “ the splendid 
bloody fools !” 


CHAPTER XXI 


The first reality of war which Hugh, next morning 
encountered was a sentry with fixed bayonet mounting 
guard over the front gate of Knox, in which a company 
of territorials was already billeted. At the sight he felt 
a rush of unreasoning anger. The idea of being kept 
out of his own college by a miserable little tradesman 
in uniform ! The absurdity of the situation made him 
laugh. Since yesterday he had suffered an inevitable 
reaction. The terrible ecstasy of vision had departed, 
he felt aimless and empty. What thoughts he had were 
base and selfish. He must keep out of this thing, he 
was no fighter, what was war to him except a horror ? 
Was all his life to be cut short by this mad idiocy of 
lunatic nations ? Surely they wouldn’t want men like 
him to fight : he couldn’t fight, it would turn him sick. 
They would want brains at home, everybody couldn’t 
dress up in khaki and learn to shoot. He saw life 
suddenly from a different angle. All his former dis- 
contents vanished, his unhappiness, his longing for 
something that he never found. Simply to exist was 
sweet, the thought of losing suddenly all hold on life 
turned him dizzy : even his uncertainty, his introspec- 
tion, was pleasant in retrospect. He didn’t want to give 
anything up, he wanted his future, even though he did 
nothing with it. It was intolerable to think of it end- 
ing like this, aimlessly, ingloriously. What wouldn’t he 
301 


302 A CITY IN THE FOREGROUND 

give just to go on ! and yet at the back of his mind 
he knew already that he too would be drawn up into 
the bustle and the horror. . . . 

. . . What was to be done, now, at once ? He spent 
several hours reading up week-old newspapers, trying to 
grasp the logic of the situation, intent on thinking the 
matter out for himself. But thinking was just what he 
found impossible; he could not sit still, could not con- 
centrate his mind. In streets he found little or no 
comfort. Oxford was emptying again ; his friends, after 
their sudden gathering, were pouring out with definite 
set purpose, and he was being left, as usual, high and 
dry by the receding tide. Geoffrey he saw for a moment 
on Magdalen Bridge, radiant and affectionate. He de- 
tached himself with a rush from his luggage-laden cab. 

“ Good-bye, Hugh, old man. Tm danmed lucky, 
they’ve recommended me for a commission. It’ll come 
through in a week or two, meanwhile I’m off to train with 
the Inns of Court. See you in Germany, soon, I hope. 
My God ! won’t we have a binge when it’s all over — ” 
and he was gone, clattering up the High, almost before 
Hugh had realised the meeting. 

Harold found time for a flying visit to “Ben Nevis.” 
He had enlisted as a trooper in a yeomanry regiment, 
and was off to camp next morning. 

“ I spent a troubled night, Hugh,” he said, “ puzzling 
over the mentality of the Supreme Being. Those 
precious hours were, however, not wasted. I have come 
to the conclusion that one thing alone explains the war : 
God’s desire to see Charles in puttees ! Charles has a 
great feeling for the ‘right thing,’ and even puttees 
won’t stand in his way for long. But, ‘Oh, my dear, 
these ridiculous clothes, and this dfeadjul gun, really 


A CITY IN THE FOREGROUND 303 

what is one to do?’ Well, so long, Hugh, I mustn’t 
wait. It wouldn’t do to be late one’s first day, would 
it ? I don’t think the sergeant-major altogether likes 
the look of me as it is, I think he objected to my hair 
oil and in another minute he too was gone. 

That evening Hugh decided that Oxford was un- 
bearable. He must go where he could think, he must 
make up his mind to something, and for that he craved 
open spaces. He realised that he was at a turning- 
point, that the crisis was upon him, but for the life of 
him he couldn’t break through that detestable habit of 
seeing it from the outside. Perhaps if he got right 
away. . . . 

Next morning he set out early with a rucksack and a 
stick. As he passed Knox he yielded to a sudden temp- 
tation of sentiment, and turning in through the front 
porch stood for a moment in the early emptiness of the 
great quad. As he turned to go he was conscious of a 
figure pacing slowly up and down the fellows’ garden. 
It was Creighton, and on an impulse he went over to say 
good-bye. At the sound of footsteps Creighton stopped 
and looked up. There was, in his eyes, a new look of 
weariness that Hugh had never before seen there. 

“ Are you off too ?” he said. 

“ Yes, I must get out of Oxford : I don’t know where 
I’m going, but I can’t stay here.” After a moment’s 
pause he added with an attempt at lightness, “ I suppose 
I shall be in khaki like all the rest in a few days,” and 
as he spoke he knew that he said truly, knew that the 
choice, however he might struggle against it, was made 
irrevocably. 

Creighton looked, at him for a moment in silence. 

**Well, good-bye and good luck,” he said at last, and 


304 A CITY IN THE FOREGROUND 

then, with a wry smile, “ Fm afraid they won’t want me ; 
I’m too old.” 

All the bitterness of realisation and surrender was in 
the words, and with a handshake and a single good-bye, 
Hugh turned away. 

At the porch he looked round for the last time. 
Creighton stood where he had left him, immobile, 
symbolic, staring with unseeing eyes on the quiet trees 
and long shadows, at the empty windows and the grey 
walls reddened by the level beams of the early August 
sun. Never again could he pretend; and for a moment 
Hugh felt that his tragedy was greater than the tragedy 
of the nations. 

***** 

Late that afternoon Hugh climbed the great wall of 
downs beyond Wantage. Through the heat of the day 
he had tramped the white road, feeling nothing of the 
glaring sun, seeing nothing of the heavy trees that 
seemed to droop with the black weight of their leaves 
above the hedgerows, or of the distant line of hills upon 
the southern horizon towards which he was going. He 
had tried to think, but he could not control his ideas : 
they turned over and over in his brain with maddening, 
mechanical iteration. Now, at last, as the bare cliffs 
of chalk and turf rose on either hand, a weight seemed 
to fall from his mind, he began to feel that he could 
reason quietly with himself. 

Long ago he had found in these hills a magic of 
comfort and peace which nothing else could give. Un- 
thinkingly his feet had turned towards the south. As 
he climbed steadily, the down winds caught and washed 
him clean. Surely nothing in the world was so old, so 
wise, so moving. Here was age in all its power and 


A CITY IN THE FOREGROUND 305 

majesty, not the age of ruins from which life has been 
scattered and trampled into forgetfulness, but the age 
of eternal life. Right and left the great cropped breasts 
of the land swung upwards with a monumental rhythm 
that he could feel and share at every step. Over all 
hung peace and sweetness and a great wisdom. Here 
and there he met a countryman, twisted and bent 
like the wind-blown thorns against the sky, and old 
with incredible age. The wonder of this country was 
in the faces of its people, making of them something 
gnome-like, elfin, superhuman. 

On the crest above the White Horse of Alfred, Hugh 
lay down and looked towards the north. A wonderful 
contentment came upon him, the turbulence of his 
thoughts found rest. Ever since he had said good-bye 
to Creighton he had known, deep in himself, what he was 
going to do. He had said unthinkingly that the war 
would take him, and he had known that the words were 
true. For the last twenty-four hours he had fought a 
losing battle. He had reasoned with himself to find a 
way of escape, he had sought for a way out. But now 
he knew that there was no alternative. He gave him- 
self no reasons, he did not think of the matter in terms 
of justice or duty or honour, he knew simply that he 
would go with the rest. He told himself that he had no 
illusions, that he was acting with his eyes open, and yet 
perhaps, as he lay above the world with the sinking sun 
flooding the plain with scarlet, he was carried away by 
the one great illusion of his life. 

One thing he determined. He would not drift into 
this business, he would not let life take him up and 
fling him out like rubbish. What he did he would do 
of set purpose, and in the downs he sought and found 

20 


3o6 a city in the FOREGROUND 

his constancy. Now at least he could make a decision. 
He looked back over the years of uncertainty. Never 
had he been able to fix his desires or his convictions. 
Here, at last, was something he could do with his heart 
and soul : this, at last, was the great chance. He would 
decide once and for all, there should be no more doubt- 
ing, no more torturing himself with thought. Dimly, 
perhaps, he realised that he was surrendering to a sudden 
emotion, but the luxury of the surrender overpowered 
every other consideration. Never before had he felt so 
certain and so secure. Whether or no he remained 
steadfast did not seem to matter, uncertainty might 
return, but at any rate he would have had this one 
supreme moment. 

In the sudden exaltation he jumped up and stood 
against the sky, with the wind blowing clean about him. 
In the limpid clearness of the evening light he could see 
the line of Cumnor Ridge, and behind it he pictured 
Oxford lying quiet and golden in its valley. Almost 
from this very spot must Jude have looked and longed 
for the magic city before ever he knew what disillusion 
life had in store for him. At the thought Hugh’s eyes j 
brightened, and he laughed quietly to himself. Not as i 
Jude the boy was he looking towards the unknown place, ' 
but as a man with his eyes turned to something he had 
known and loved, hated and doubted, and found for the 
first time. Now, at last, he saw Oxford and all that it 
was for him. He felt suddenly like some beacon on the 
hill top, it was as though he stood aside and saw him- 
self symbolic against the sunset, an omen to all the 
darkening plain. For a moment he indulged the 
thought, and then with a last look towards the distant 
city which he could not see, turned and, with a light 
heart, strode down the hill 


EPILOGUE 


BEING AN EXTRACT FROM A LETTER FROM HUGH 
KENYON TO JOHN DELMEAGE, WRITTEN IN IQiS 

“ . . . And so, you see, I am writing this because, 
whether or no we ever meet again, I feel that I must get 
things down in black and white. 

“ Wounds and convalescence leave you with a great 
deal of time on your hands, and I have spent most of 
the last few months putting together scraps and notes 
which I have carried about with me all over France and 
Flanders. I jotted things down from time to time, 
chiefly with the object of getting my thoughts straight, 
but at the back of my mind I think was always the 
thought that the bundle was ultimately for you. Poor 
old John J I’ve no doubt vanity had much to do with 
it ; it does seem, after all, a pity to waste such beautifully 
rounded phrases; and in my defence be it said that I 
have pruned and compressed the original into at least 
manageable size. 

“ I have told you, I believe, already (for such heroics 
had to be described to somebody) of the fine attitude I 
struck upon the Berkshire downs, of the romantic 
emotion with which I greeted the inevitable. Looking 
back to that day I ought, I suppose, to see it all as 
eminently ridiculous, but as a matter of fact I cherish it 
rather closely. Of course the moment passed, as I knew 
it would, but it did for a time leave behind it a certain 
flavour. You determined young men cannot possibly 
realise what one hour of certainty is to temperamental 

307 


3o8 a city in the FOREGROUND 

‘ drifters * like myself. There have been times when I 
would have given my soul for one fine prejudice, for 
one good ht of obstinacy, for anything to put an end 
to vacillation. Don’t try and console me with talk of 
broad-mindedness and tolerance. I have played that 
tune too often myself. There used to be a play, I 
believe, called the ‘ Ever Open Door.’ The name I know 
had a way of driving me to fury, it was so like me, an 
open door that nobody could shut, draughts blowing all 
day and all night, and nothing to keep them out. Well, 
that one supreme {X)se of mine was as though the door 
had swung to suddenly, and I still think of it with 
thankfulness. 

“ What I did afterwards was necessarily of the nature 
of reaction. I * joined up,’ as you know, trained, got a 
commission, and trained again, all rather mechanically, 
and not at all heroically. As a matter of fact it amazes 
me now to look back on those days and to remember 
how little interest I took in the war. It didn’t need 
much concentration to master one’s job, and outside 
daily duties I left contemporary history to take care of 
itself. It all seems strange and forced now, but then it 
appeared to me a perfectly sane attitude. I think I 
missed a good deal. The great emotional waves of the 
first few months hardly touched me. During the retreat 
from Mons I was reading Balzac in the intervals of 
learning to shoot. I hardly looked at a paper beyond 
just glancing at the headlines. I don’t think I could 
confess that to anyone but you; it sounds too disgust- 
ingly self-conscious, but honestly, it wasn’t a pose. Some 
curious ‘ kink ’ in my nature drove me to do things, 
which, if I had read of them in a novel, I should have 
dismissed as affected or grossly exaggerated. Between 
August and December, 1914, I got through a colossal 
amount of reading, more, I suppose, than ever before. 


A CITY IN THE FOREGROUND 309 

except, possibly, during my first year at Oxford. I don’t 
remember that I read for any particular reason, except 
that I wanted to, but possibly I had a feeling that life 
now was really short. I wish Fd kept a list of what I 
read then, it would show my state of mind better than any 
confession. Dostoeffsky, I remember, and Wilde, Balzac, 
Conrad, Smollett, Spenser, Meredith, and Hardy, but 
many more there were, which I have forgotten. Nothing 
solidly, nothing for long at a time, just dipping, chapters 
here and pages there, and all the time I was perfectly 
happy and resigned. It is difficult to make you realise that, 
but I was^ and the fact that I was seems to me now the 
salient point. Later, when the great ‘conscientious 
objection’ campaign started, it meant simply nothing to 
me, which is funny, if you remember what an ardent 
‘ pacifist ’ I used to be. I don’t mean that I joined the 
‘ shoot ’em at sight and eat the lot for breakfast ’ party. 
For them I had nothing but scorn and hatred. I 
respected the objectors — at first, but that particular 
attitude never for one single moment occurred to me 
as a personal possibility. Even when war broke out 
I couldn’t think of it seriously, though there was a day, 
and more than a day, when I hunted selfishly and 
hysterically for a way of escape. It wasn’t cowardice 
either, it wasn’t that I fought shy of what people would 
say or think, it was just that the whole business seemed 
rather an ignoble babble about something that didn’t 
very much matter. That it mattered frightfully to some 
I know as well as you do, but it simply meant nothing 
to me. 

“ I like to think now that it was my evening above 
the White Horse bearing fruit. During those months 
of training and reading I was lying, as it were, fallow, 
waiting for seed to fall from somewhere and sprout ! So 
you see that the one and only decision of my life was 


310 A CITY IN THE FOREGROUND 

not entirely barren, though, as I shall show you, the crop 
was not exactly what I had hoped for. All my life I 
have been lying fallow. Slightly changing the meta- 
phor, I will say that I have always waited and looked 
for things that never came. I made an ideal of school 
— before I went there. I had hysterical cravings for Con- 
firmation — and stopped taking Communion about 
eighteen months afterwards. But Oxford was the great 
light on my horizon, and Oxford was in many ways a 
horrible disappointment. By that time, however, I had 
attained to years, if not of discretion, at least of criticism. 
I began to realise myself, and then I probed myself, and 
got deeper and deeper, and flounderd and cursed and 
floundered again. The fault — latterly I saw it clearly — 
was not in Oxford, but in me. You know all about that, 
I bored you with it years ago, but it’s still as true as it 
was then. I thought I was rather a superior realist, 
* seeing life whole,’ and as a matter of fact I was the 
most romantic fool ‘ever,’ as the Americans say. The 
thought of Oxford is for me now almost too poignant. 
It is the one great passion of my life, it has been my 
besetting mania, and yet I suppose I got less out of it 
than any one of my friends. What makes platitudes so 
insufferable, John, is their truth, and it is a platitude 
that hopeless love is sweet, sweeter sometimes than love 
returned. At last, in 1915, I went to France, and with 
my going the fire burst out again. All the old roman- 
ticism, the sentimentality, call it what you will, awoke. 
I was ready, I think, for a crusade, I longed for an 
emotional cataclysm. I had determined to go into the 
war with a fine glint in my eye, with the soul of a fanatic. 
I didn’t let the enthusiasm burn itself out at home, I 
kept it carefully banked until I could let it have its way. 
What happened ? What, of course, I might have known 
would happen. I found it was simply impossible to 


A CITY IN THE FOREGROUND 31 1 

maintain the crusading spirit. One of the most awful 
moments of disillusion I have ever suffered was when I 
found that I could not even hate ! How I longed to 
hate ! My sense of humour went entirely, and I actually 
at times prayed for hatred. But it wouldn’t come. The 
first time I saw a batch of German prisoners I actually 
cried, I had never seen anything so futilely pathetic. 
Well, that’s all very well, but it wasn’t the spirit of the 
great White Horse, was it? 

“Journalists have written a great deal about getting 
down to ‘ brute realities of human nature ’ at the front. 
I’ve never read greater nonsense. A few thousand men 
may loose their tempers in a battle, but that’s not the 
war. The curse of war is not that it rouses primitive 
passions, but that it rouses all the base, petty instincts, 
not of ‘ nature,’ but of civilisation. What you really get 
is two enormous sets of complicated machinery of which 
the very outside cogwheels, with much slipping, grind- 
ing, and trepidation, occasionally engage. How can you 
feel warlike under those conditions ? Even one’s impres- 
sions are made for one. One feels nothing, sees nothing 
at first hand. Every shattered roadway, every shell- 
scarred morass is only what one has seen a hundred 
times in the Illustrated London News. Why, even the 
language I am using now is the language of the ‘ corres- 
pondent.’ Every emotion under fire — fear, confidence, 
relief — has been dictated to one by Mr. Philip Gibbs and 
Mr. Beach Thomas. Even fresh emotions, the so-called 
‘ frankness ’ of Siegfried Sassoon and his ever growing 
band of followers, is largely reaction from the pervading 
journalism of the moment : it isn’t really very significant 
emotion. I’m sick of these war writers. Of course, if 
one has never thought about anything before, one can 
sit down and send off great screeds about ‘discovering 
the truth through pain.’ The average intelligent mortal 


312 A CITY IN THE FOREGROUND 

didn’t need the war to teach him that ‘ God’s not in his 
heaven.’ Poor fellows ! it’s not altogether their fault 
that print is thrust upon them. A certain class of man 
seems to have set himself to make capital by becoming 
the literary executor of the fallen. 

“ You will say that I went to the war with a preju- 
dice. I would willingly admit the charge had I not 
already made it to myself a thousand times. I went 
with more than a prejudice, I went with a fixed idea of 
self-surrender, self-realisation, and the sudden conscious- 
ness that sacrifice is not the easy thing it seems worked 
in me a strong reaction. As a matter of fact it was 
probably the old Adam appearing again — that old, 
cursed failing of mine for seeing things from the outside, 
of not really feeling them from the centre. You see, the 
outside of war is, after all, limited, exhaustible. I had 
experienced most of it vicariously, and found in my own 
personal contact with it nothing more to feel. Perhaps 
I am rather hard on those poor young men who wrote 
their reams. Possibly they did really get hold of a 
deeper truth and beauty than I could even imagine. 
Still, as they expressed it, it seemed, with one or two 
splendid exceptions, remarkably like old platitudes. The 
war will not be an artistic possibility for many years to 
come. 

“ And now, after all this laboriously described dis- 
illusion, you will be expecting from me a tirade of weari- 
ness and disgust. Unfortunately, you’re not going to 
get it. I never found my crusade, but I did find some 
amazingly satisfactory experiences. The one thing I 
have always dreaded is having nothing to look forward 
to. A placid, humdrum life is so exactly like one of 
those endless, admirable communication trenches in 
France, that it seems almost impertinent to point the 
parallel. On you go, eternally, in perfect safety and 


A CITY IN THE FOREGROUND 313 

unutterable boredom, steep banks on either side, nothing 
to see but the sky and an occasionally encroaching weed 
or flower, and a heart profoundly thankful for the ex- 
citement of a passing shell, provided it’s not too near 
and does not seriously threaten your safety. My 
character is not vivid enough to make its own excite- 
ments. Well, during the war, one has had always 
something to look forward to, even if it was only the 
change from shell holes to a ruined village, and the 
artificiality of the conditions threw the contrast all out 
of focus and wove a mantle of delight round the most 
sordid animal relaxations. Ecstasy there was too. 
Never shall I forget the divine poetic fervour with 
which one attained new skylines, new panoramas in 
advance. When the Germans retreated in 1917 it was 
a wonderful experience to move on roads and through 
villages which, up till then, had been but possibilities 
indefinitely removed, mere names upon a map. Men 
like I am, with rather useless, flaccid brains, live for the 
ecstatic moments, and our normal tragedy is their per- 
sistent refusal to materialise. The war gave them to us 
with ungrudging hands, and I feel that there will soon 
be men who forget the beastliness, the brutality, the 
rottenness of it all, and remember only the summer days 
in ‘ rest,’ the companionship, the distant valley-hidden 
billets, and the unforgettable evenings before one went 
on leave, so much better than the leave itself. The mere 
fact, too, of having something quite definite to accom- 
plish was balm to my soul. There is something in- 
explicably satisfactory in completing a trench relief to 
time ! 

“ And this brings me to the crux of the whole matter, 
to which I have been leading for so long, the real reason 
— and, I hope, excuse — for my burdening you with this 
intolerable apologia. If Providence had been an artist 


314 A CITY IN THE FOREGROUND 

she would have finished with me in the last four years. 
But she lacks taste and intelligence, and one has to 
abide by her mistakes. If anything could prove lack 
of design in the world, surely it is the war. Don’t mis- 
understand me. I’m not going to repeat the claptrap of 
the papers about God permitting all the destruction and 
the passion. I’m not moaning over the young lives lost 
nor explaining them. To me they are sufficient justifica- 
tion of themselves. The badness, the senselessness, is 
not in the number of men who died, but in the multitude 
who didn’t. I’m not trying to be witty, or original, or 
smart; I say it in all reverence. This is the end of an 
epoch, and a generation ought to have ended with it, at 
least most of it. Some there are — you, I think are one, 
John — who can bear to look into the future undismayed 
and joyful. Frankly, I am not. Up to 1914 I had been 
a failure such as there had never been; a failure who 
seemed a success to his friends ! My uncles and aunts, 
bless them, thought me a wonder with a golden future. 
With their adulation, their hopefulness, their kindness, 
and their fatal facility for seizing always on the un- 
important, they drove me at times to such a pitch of 
exasperation and dissatisfaction that I very nearly 
dropped plumb into melancholia. With the war, as I 
have told you, I found something, not much I admit, 
far less than I had looked for, but still something, and 
on that note I ought to have finished. Don’t think that 
I ever, at any definite moment, wanted to die, I didn’t. 
At times, even, I was tempted to cry with Matthew 
Arnold, 'Ah, God, let me not die before I have begun 
to live.’ But in saner moments I have realised that the 
little beginning of life which I found there must, in the 
nature of things and my character, be its end. With 
peace I shall drop back into the old discontents. Why, 
oh why, couldn’t I have gone out with the others ? What 


A CITY IN THE FOREGROUND 315 

a cynical devil God is ! Do you remember my talking 
to you about those friends of ours ? I said then that 
they were fulfilling their lives, that they knew where 
they were going and strode on unquestioning; well, it’s 
still true. I was the one then who merely drifted, I am 
still the one. They’ve each of them found himself, the 
war has only touched in the outline with a stronger 
hand. Look at Geoffrey. Surely it was written at his 
birth that he should flame to a white heat and go out 
in a blazing glory of fire. When I heard of his death 
I saw, even in my first sorrow, the rightness of it. His 
was a life made for the death he died. He was whole, 
complete, wonderful, from the day he first drew breath. 
How badly I have shown in comparison with him. In 
our short time together, in our friendship, in our quarrels, 
it was always he who got the value out of life. It was 
always worth while to be wrong with him : never worth 
anything to be right with me. His prejudices and en- 
thusiasms always out-valued a thousand times my saner 
judgments, just as his death far outweighs my life. My 
one regret is that we broke from one another, and yet 
I know that, given again similar circumstances, with 
all my subsequent knowledge in addition, the same thing 
would happen. Our temperaments would not, could not 
mingle, but I think I can say with perfect honesty that 
always my affection for him remained, in essentials, un- 
clouded. 

“ Harold is gone, and Charles, whom, by the way, I 
saw on his last leave, brisk and happy, with never a 
* dear ’ upon his lips. Theodor, of course, remains ; he is, 
like his spats, eternal. I must confess that I feel no 
rancour. I have heard much said against him. I have 
been violently attacked for countenancing his existence, 
but I feel for him still a great liking, though I don’t 
think I want to see him very often. He, too, has com- 


3i6 a city in the FOREGROUND 

pleted his fate with a wonderful logic. It was too much 
to expect of one with such a masterful knowledge of war 
to submit to the brutal test of actual combat. I can’t 
help smiling still when I think that he finished his book 
on the Hundred Years’ War (a very sound and distinctly 
bellicose work by the way) on the very day that he hid 
himself with final success in the secure recesses of the 
Admiralty. He has schemed out his life too carefully 
from the beginning to let such ‘ trivia ’ as wars interfere 
with the design. Egotism carried to that pitch is to me 
something almost for admiration, certainly not for dis- 
gust. That he has attained, in his retreat, not only 
safety but a remarkably good salary only puts the cop- 
ing stone on his achievement. It is as though ‘Volpone’ 
had the ending it deserves, and which Jonson dared 
not give it, the complete triumph of impudence over 
right and justice. 

“ Theodor is one of those to whom the future belongs 
in whatever form it may come. To Malleson, also, it 
should offer no terrors. After all, he has made it his 
business to point the road for it to take. What has he 
done, but preach sedition and foster unrest ? But what 
else should he do? Looked at as a work of art, our 
generation, or the little bit of it that was the world to 
us, has held to its design. There have been no false 
patterns woven into the fabric, no colours used that were 
not inevitable. It is finished now, or almost, and soon 
it will be hung upon the wall for critics to praise or 
condemn at will. A remarkably complete piece of work 
it is too, save for one or two loose threads that will not 
be trimmed off. Of them the worst is I. You have had 
all that before, so I won’t repeat the moaning dirge. 
But I am not alone. A few months ago, I went to 
Oxford, and there I met Creighton. It is terrible to see 
him. He is old suddenly, and he looks as though he 


A CITY IN THE FOREGROUND 317 

had never got over the tragic surprise of realising it. 
His is a real tragedy. Sooner or later it was bound to 
come : war has only precipitated it. I am far better 
off than he is, for in old age I may find maturity, 
certainly I do not dread it, but for him it will bring 
nothing but bitterness. Sometimes, looking back, I 
seem to see myself and him stuck up like puppets on 
a stage, and round our two figures I try to weave a 
tragedy, but in the end it has all the ludicrous pathos 
of a marionette show. You see, neither he nor I have 
ever been real. We both saw life from the angle of a 
fixed idea, and it was almost, not quite, the same idea. 

“ There is no future that I can see for Creighton. He 
has never had resources in himself. His interests have 
always been in other people, not because of what they 
were actually, but because of what they were in their 
relationship with him. His friends were invariably more 
vital than he. They expected and received from him 
nothing but the reaction from their own activities, which 
was his life. Well, what is there for him now ? Oxford 
will 'go on,’ young men will be about him again, but 
now there will be at least a whole generation, plain to 
the eye, between them. So long as there was continuity 
in the Creighton legend, and generation succeeded im- 
perceptibly to generation, his position was plausible, 
his scheme worked. But now ! Ever since August, 1914, 
he has been classed definitely with the middle-aged, 
and nothing that he or the hierarchy of his priests can 
do will ever restore the superstition in its entirety. I’m 
terribly sorry for him, sorrier than I am for myself. 
Outwardly, I suppose, his 'circle’ will continue, the 
young will be drawn to him, but he will never again 
deceive himself. He had much better leave Oxford, 
but he won’t. How he can stay there I don’t know. I 
keep away from it in sheer terror. The streets, the 


3i8 a city in the FOREGROUND 

gardens, the colleges, are intolerable. It is the fate of 
university towns, I suppose, to be eternally haunted, but 
never until I went back did I realise how ghost-ridden 
a city can be. I simply can’t bear it, John : new faces, 
old scenes, and eternal memories. It is like revisiting 
it after the catastrophe of ‘Zuleika Dobson.* What 
a prophecy was in that amazing book ! How com- 
pletely has the generation we knew vanished and left 
behind, for all the pattern of new faces, streets that are 
old and void, echoing with dead voices. It would be a 
relief if I could go and sentimentalise there, but that I 
can only do when I am writing to you. Perhaps it is 
because in Oxford I am the ghost in the land of living 
souls. One thing I remember, and hold by : Oxford 
came to her own in the war. She justified herself. 
Look where you will, she shone and burned and in- 
spired, and, finally, she died. Perhaps the phoenix will 
rise again. No ! there is no perhaps, she will rise again, 
but in that morning flight we have no part. Of us and 
of our generation the pyre was built ; better a thousand 
times if we had flamed to heaven with the rest. At best, 
or worst, we are charred stick, and that, my dear John, 
is a pretty poor fate for anybody ! 

“Well, ‘if we do meet again, then we shall smile,’ — 
but the war’s not over yet ; that’s the only excuse I have 
for boring you. 

“ Your ever affectionate 
“Hugh. 

“ London — Cornw.all — London. 

“ Jan., 1919 — Jan., 1920.” 


45 6 9B 

Printed in Great Britain by Billing and Sons, Ltd., Guildford and Esher. 




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